IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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ILS. 

Ill'-* 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


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^^^^' 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  US80 

(716)S72-4503 


'4^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CiHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductiorts  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


\ 


N 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notot  tachniquea  at  bibiiographiquas 


Tha  inttituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  bast 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturas  of  this 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagas  in  tha 
raproduction.  or  which  may  significantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackad  balow. 


□    Colourad  covars/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


I      I    Covars  damagad/ 


D 


Couvartura  andommagAa 

Covars  rastorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  rastaurte  at/ou  palliculia 


I — I    Covar  titia  missing/ 


La  titra  da  couvartura  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


D 


Cartas  giographiquas  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


t~~\    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


D 
0 


D 


D 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Raiid  avac  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissant  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  iorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmies. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentalres; 


L'institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaira 
qu'il  lul  a  M  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cat  axemplaira  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographiqua,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mAthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^as 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restauries  et/ou  pelliculies 


r~1    Pages  damaged/ 

I      I    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 


to 


• 


D 
D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^colories,  tachaties  ou  piqu^es 


I      I    Pages  detached/ 


Th 

PC 

of 
fill 


Or 
be 
thi 
sic 
otS 
firt 
sic 
or 


Pages  d6tach6es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualiti  in^gala  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materl{ 
Comprend  du  material  suppl^mentaire 


r~p\    Showthrough/ 

I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Th 
sh( 
Tir 
wh 

Ml 

difl 
ant 
bat 
rigl 
raq 
ma 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata.  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmies  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meiileure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu*  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

y 

'2X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

■■,  ■^■f.iVv , 


re 

l«tails 
as  du 
modifier 
Br  une 
filmage 


9S 


Th«  copy  filmod  hero  has  boon  roproducod  thanka 
to  the  genoroaity  of: 

Brock  University 
St.  Catharines 


The  imagea  appearing  here  are  the  boat  quality 
posaible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  kooping  with  the 
filming  contract  speciflcationa. 


Original  copiea  in  printed  pap«r  eovera  are  fllmod 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  laat  page  with  a  printed  or  illuatrated  imprea- 
sion,  or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copiea  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illuatrated  imprea- 
sion.  and  ending  on  the  laat  page  with  a  printed 
or  illuatrated  impreaaion. 


The  laat  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  appliea. 

IMapa.  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratioa.  Thoso  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  expoaure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framoa  as 
required.  The  following  diagrama  iiluatrate  the 
method: 


L'ojcemplaire  filmA  fut  reproduit  grAce  i  la 
gAnAroait*  da: 

Brock  University 
St  Catharines 


Las  imagea  suivantes  ont  AtA  reproduites  avec  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compto  tenu  do  la  condition  at 
do  ia  nettetA  do  i'exemplaire  filmA.  at  tn 
conformitA  avec  lea  conditions  du  contrat  da 
fllmage. 

Loa  exemplaires  originaux  dont  ia  couverture  on 
papier  est  imprimAe  sont  filmAs  en  commenqant 
par  la  premier  plat  at  9n  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  emprainte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  lea  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmAs  an  commenpant  par  la 
premlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreaaion  ou  d'illustration  at  en  terminant  par 
la  derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  ia 
derniAre  image  do  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
caa:  le  symbole  -^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Los  cartas,  planchea.  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  A  des  taux  do  rAduction  diff Arents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  soul  clichA.  il  est  filmA  A  partir 
do  Tangle  supAriour  gauche,  do  gauche  A  droits, 
at  do  haut  en  baa.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imagea  nAcassaire.  Lea  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


arrata 
to 


pelure, 
in  A 


□ 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

THE    GOLDEN    DOG 


(Lk  Chien  D'or) 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  LOUIS  QUINZB  IN  gUEBEC 


BY 


WILLIAM    KIRBY,  F.R.S.C. 


NEW  YORK 
LOVELL,  CORYELL   &   COMPANY 

310-318   SIXTH  AVKNU« 


50198 


c 
n 

R] 


>:^'a^'^4»l^?!''':ri3»*:"^;*#»','  ■5*  .''■; 


u^'..-:-.*^^-  ■--... ■'^ 


MISS  RYE, 

IN  ADMIRATION   Ol>   HKR   INTBLLIOENT    AND    WOMANLY    PKB8ETBRAV0I 

IN  THE  GOOD  WORK  TO   WHICH   SHK    DEVOTES  HBB  LIFE— THE   RESCDI 

FROM    POyBRTT    AND    VICE    OF    DESTITUTE     CHILOBBN— THIS    BOOK    18 

RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED  BY  THE  AUTHOB. 

NiAOARA,  Ontario, 
Janaaty,  tKl» 


:^ 


ziK&y- 


•m  M^lllilJ'':' 


I  '' ■;•;•. 


•<;:::■-■■ 


\\ 


CONTENTS. 


aumm. 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 


I 

lO 

14 
34 


Men  of  the  Old  Regime 
The  Walls  of  Quebec 
A  Chatelaine  of  New  France 
Confidences 
The  Itinerant  Notary. 
Beaumanoir 
The  Intendant  Bigot  . 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin 
Pierre  Philibert . 
Am^lie  de  Repentigny. 
The  Soldier's  Welcome 
The  Castle  of  St.  Louis 
The  Chien  d'or  . 
The  Council  of  War  .^ 
The  Charming  Josephine 
Ang61ique  des  Meloises 
Splendid^  Mendax 
The  Merovingian  Princess 
Put  Money  in  thy  Purse 
Cross  Questioning 
Belmont 

Sic  itur  ad  astra  . 
So  glo7  '1  the  Tempter 
Seals  ol  iove,  but  Sealed  in  Vain 
The  hurried  Question  of  Despair 
"  Twixt  the  last  Violet  and  the  earliest  Rose"  262 
The  Canadian  Boat  Song   ....      273 
Cheerful  Yesterdays  and  Confident  To-mor- 
rows       .  

A  day  at  the  Manor  House 

Felices  ter  et  amplius         .... 

"No  speech  of  silk  will  serve  your  turn  "  . 

The  Ball  at  the  Intendant's  Palace    . 

"  On  with  the  Dance"         .... 

Calling  a  Ravenous  bird  from  the  East 

La  Corriveau 359 

Weird  Sisters      .        .        .       ^        .        .      370 
"  Flaskets  of  Drugs,  full  to  their  wicked  lips."  388 


80 
86 
93 

116 

129 
141 

107 
182 
190 

30I 

208 
220 

23s 
245 
253 


288 
296 
310 
318 
332 
340 
353 


CONTEl^TS. 


CNArniR. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LI. 

LII. 

LIII. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

LVIII. 

LIX. 


rAoSi 


395 
408 

430 

443 
452 

468 
475 


The  broad  black  Gateway  of  a  Lie      .        . 

Olympic  Chariots  and  much  learned  Dust . 

The  Coutume  dc  Paris 

A  wild  nieht  inn  doors  and  out   . 

M^re  Malheur     .... 

Out  venoms  all  the  Worms  of  Nile 

Quoth  the  raven  :  "  Nevermore ! " 

A  deed  without  a  Name      ....      48^ 

"  Let's  talk  of  graves  and  worms  and  epitaphs  "  496 

Silk  eloves  over  bloody  hands    .        .        .       517 

The  Intendant's  Dilemma  .        .        .541 

"  I  will  feet  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him  "551 

The  Bourgeois  Philibert     .        .        .        .      561 

A  drawn  game 

"In  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story  " 
The  marketplace  on  St.  Martin's  Day 
"  Blessed  they  who  die  doing  thy  will  " 

Evil  News  rides  post 

The  Ursulines 

The  lamp  of  Repentigny  .... 
"  Lovely  in  Death  the  beauteous  Ruin  lay  " 
«  The  y.ills  of  God  grind  slowly"  .    . 


573 
581 

592 
604 
622 

633 

643 
658 

667 


,  ..     ,.  •,,     ^       %fm^iH^>v' '  ■■■•■'■>•'■.'      "^X 
.■      ■  .         r         .       . .  •'«     ..IX  >v 

,11.  fjt./v, 
•■.  ■?  ;•  \ 

'■C.        .  ,.'  i 


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'XX 


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"...     iftRf  vi?  rvt,.;.         _     ■    " 

-,,4 1<      1.    . 

■    '":>ijjrMv>'.).h-:fS    ^■':...'      ..        . ' 


:;'feti»    i'<^. 


It 

ii 


,  J- 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


(U 


CHAPTER     I. 

MEN  OF  THB  OLD  REGIME. 


SEE  Naples  and  then  die  I '  That  was  a  proud  saying, 
Count,  which  we  used  to  hear  as  we  cruised  under 
lateen  sails  about  the  glorious  bay,  that  reflects  from  its 
waters  the  fires  of  Vesuvius.  We  believed  the  boast  then, 
Count.  But  I  say  now,  *  See  Quebec  and  live  for  ever  I  * 
Eternity  would  be  too  short  to  weary  me  of  this  lovely 
scene — this  bright  Canadian  morning  is  worthy  of  Eden, 
and  the  glorious  landscape  worthy  of  such  a  sun  rising." 

Thus  exclaimed  a  tall,  fair,  Swedish  sentleman,  his 
blue  eyes  sparkling,  and  every  feature  glowing  with  enthu- 
siasm, Herr  Peter  Kalm,  to  His  Excellency  Count  de  la 
Galissonibre,  Governor  of  New  France,  as  they  stood 
together  on  a  bastion  of  the  ramparts  of  Quebec,  in  the 
year  of  grace  1748. 

A  group  of  French  and  Canadian  officers  in  the  military 
uniforms  of  Louis  XV.,  stood  leaning  on  their  swords, 
as  they  conversed  gaily  together  on  the  broad  gravelled 
walk,  at  the  foot  of  the  rampart.  They  formed  the  suite 
in  attendance  upon  the  Governor,  who  was  out  by  sunrise 
this  morning  to  inspect  the  work  done  during  the  night  by 
the  citizens  of  Quebec,  and  the  habitans  of  the  surround- 
ing  country,  who  had   been  hastily  summoned  to  labor 


imm' 


;^ni,i> 


'i!  fl 


upon  the  defences  of  tli3  city. 

A  few  ecclesiastics,  in  black  cassocks,  dignitaries  ol 
the  Church,  mingled  cheerfully  in  the  conversation  of  the 
officers      They  had  accompanied  the  Governor,  both  to 


i 

1 


m 


THE  CHI  EN  lyOP. 


\\ 


I 


•how  their  respect  and  to  encourage  by  their  presence 
and  exhortations,  the  zeal  of  the  colonists  in  the  work  of 
fortifying  the  capital. 

War  was  then  raging  between  old  England  and  old 
France,  and  between  New  England  and  New  France. 
The  vast  region  of  North  America,  stretching  far  into  the 
interior  and  south-west  from  Canada  to  Louisiana,  had 
for  three  years  past  been  the  scene  of  fierce  hostilities 
between  the  rival  nations,  while  the  savage  Indian  tribes 
ranged  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  otlier,  steeped  their 
mocassins  in  the  blood  of  French  and  English  colonists, 
who,  in  their  turn,  became  as  fierce  and  carried  on  the 
war  as  relentlessly  as  the  savages  themselves. 

Louisbourg,  the  bulwark  of  New  France,  projecting 
its  mailed  arm  boldly  into  the  Atlantic,  had  been  cut  off 
by  the  English,  who  now  overran  Acadia,  and  began  to 
threaten  Quebec  with  invasion  by  sea  and  land.  Busy 
rumors  of  approaching  danger  were  rife  in  the  colony,  . 
and  the  gallant  Governor  issued  orders  which  were  enthusi- /, 
astically  obeyed,  for  the  people  to  proceed  to  the  walls 
and  place  the  city  in  a  state  of  defence ;  to  bid  defiance  to 
the  enemy. 

Rolland  Michel  Barrin,  Count  de  la  Galissonifere,  was 
remarkable  no  less  for  his  philosophical  attainments,  that 
ranked  him  high  among  the  savans  of  the  French  Acad- 
emy, than  for  his  political  abilities  and  foresight  as  a 
statesman.  He  felt  strongly  the  vital  interests  involved 
in  the  present  war,  and  saw  clearly  what  was  the  sole 
policy  necessary  for  France  to  adopt  in  order  to  preserve 
her  magnificent  dominion  in  North  America.  His  coun- 
sels were  neither  liked  nor  followed  by  the  Court  of 
Versailles,  then  sinking  fast  into  the  slough  of  corruption, 
that  marked  the  closing  years  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV. 

Among  the  people  who  admired  deeds  more  than 
words,  the  Count  was  honored  as  a  brave  and  skilful 
admiral,  who  had  borne  the  flag  of  France  triumphantly 
over  the  seas,  and  in  the  face  of  her  most  powerful 
enemies — the  English  and  Dutch.  His  memorable  repulse 
of  Admiral  Byng,  eigh.  years  after  the  events  here  record- 
ed, which  led  to  the  death  of  that  brave  and  unfortunate 
officer,  who  was  shot  by  sentence  of  Court  martial  to 
atone  for  that  repulse,  was  a  glory  to  France,  but  to  the 
Ck>unt  brought  after  it  a  manly  sorrow,  for  the  fate  of  his 


At  MA'  Oh  THE  OLD  HBGLMR. 


opponent,  whose  death  he  regarded  as  a  cruel  and  unjuti 
net,  unworthy  of  the  English  nation,  usually  as  generoui 
and  merciful  as  it  is  brave  and  considerate. 

The  Governor  was  already  well  advanced  in  years. 
He  had  entered  upon  the  winter  of  life  that  spi  inkles  the 
head  with  snow  tliat  never  melts,  but  he  was  still  hale, 
ruddy  and  active.  Nature  had,  indeed,  moulded  him  in  an 
unpropitious  hour  for  personal  comeliness,  but  in  com- 
pensation had  seated  a  great  heart  and  a  graceful  mind  in 
a  body  low  of  stature,  and  marked  by  a  slight  deformity. 
His  piercing  eyes, luminous  with  intelligence  and  full  of 
sympathy  for  every  thing  noble  and  elevated,  over-powered 
with  their  fascination  the  blemishes  that  a  too  curious 
scrutiny  might  discover  upon  his  figure  ;  while  his  mobile 
handsome  lips  poured  out  the  natural  eloquence  of  clear 
thoughts  and  noble  sentiments.  The  Count  grew  great 
while  speaking ;  his  listeners  were  carried  away  by  the 
magic  of  his  voice  and  the  clearness  of  his  intellect. 

He  was  very  happy  this  morning  by  the  side  of  his  old 
friend  Peter  Kalm,  who  wa^  paying  him  a  most  welcome 
visit  in  New  France.  They  had  been  fellow  students  both 
at  Upsal  and  at  Paris,  and  loved  each  other  with  a 
cordiality,  that  like  good  wine,  grew  richer  and  more 
generous  with  age. 

Herr  Kalm  stretching  out  his  arms  as  if  to  embrace 
the  lovely  landscape,  and  clasp  it  to  his  bosom,  exclaimed 
with  fresh  enthusiasm,  "  See  Quebec,  and  live  for  ever  I  " 
"  Dear  Kalm,"  said  the  Governor,  catching  the  fervor 
of  his  friend  as  he  rested  his  hand  aifectionately  on  his 
shoulder ;  "  you  are  as  true  a  lover  of  nature  as  when  we 
sat  together  at  the  feet  of  Linnaeus,  our  glorious  young 
master,  and  heard  him  open  up  for  us  the  arcana  of  God's 
works  ;  and  we  used  to  feel  like  him  too,  when  he  thanked 
God  for  permitting  him  to  look  into  his  treasure  house, 
and  see  the  precious  things  of  creation  which  he  had 
made." 

"  Tilf  men  see  Quebec,"  replied  Kalm,  "  they  will  not 
fully  realize  the  meaning  of  the  term — *  God's  footstool/ 
It  is  a  land  worth  living  for  1"  .=^f.  s 
i  "  Not  only  a  land  to  live  for,  but  a  land  to  die  for,  and 
happy  the  man  who  dies  for  it  1  Confess,  Kalm ;  thou 
who  hast  travelled  in  all  lands,  think'st  thou  not,  it  is 
indeed  worthy  of  its  proud  title  of  New  France  ?"       ,j-: 


m 


Tti&  CHIEN  JyoH. 


! 


"  It  is  indeed  worthy,"  replied  Kalm ;  "  I  see  liere  a 
scion  of  the  old  oak  of  the  Gauls,  which,  if  let  grow,  will 
shelter  the  throne  of  France  itself,  in  an  empire  widei 
than  Caesar  wrested  from  Ambiotrix." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Count,  kindling  at  the  words  of  his 
friend;  "it  is  old  France  transplanted,  transfigured  and 
elorified  1  where  her  language,  religion  and  laws  shall  be 
handed  down  to  her  posterity,  the  glory  of  North 
America  as  the  mother  land  is  the  glory  of  Europe." 

The  enthusiastic  Galissonibre  stretched  out  his  hands 
and  implored  a  blessing  upon  the  land  entrusted  to  his 
keeping. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  sun  had  just  risen 
over  the  hill  tops  of  Lauzon,  throwing  aside  h's  drapery  of 
gold,  purple  and  crimson.  The  soft  haze  of  the  summer 
morning  was  floating  away  into  nothingness,  leaving  every 
object  fresh  with  dew  and  magnified  in  the  limpid  purity 
of  the  air. 

The  broad  St.  Lawrence,  far  beneath  their  feet,  w*s 
still  partially  veiled  in  a  thin  blue  mist,  pierced  here  and 
there  by  the  tall  mast  of  a  king's  ship,  or  merchantman 
lying  unseen  at  anchor ;  or  as  the  fog  rolled  slowly  off,  a 
swift  canoe  might  be  seen  shooting  out  into  a  streak  of 
sunshine,  with  the  first  news  of  the  morning  from  the 
South  shore. 

Behind  the  Count  and  his  companions  rose  the  white 
glistening  walls  of  the  Hdtel  Dieu,  and  farther  off  the  tall 
tower  of  the  newly  restored  Cathedral,  the  belfry  of  the 
Recollets  and  the  roofs  of  the  ancient  College  of  the 
Jesuits.  An  avenue  of  old  oaks  and  maples  shaded  the 
walk,  and  in  the  branches  of  the  trees  a  swarm  of  birds 
fluttered  and  sang,  as  if  in  rivalry  with  the  gay  French 
talk  and  laughter  of  the  group  of  officers,  who  waited  the 
return  of  the  Governor  from  the  bastion  where  he  stood, 
showing  the  glories  of  Quebec  to  his  friend. 

The  walls  of  the  city  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
upwards  as  they  approached  the  broad  gallery  and  massive 
front  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and  ascenaing  the  green 
slope  of  the  broad  glacis,  culminated  in  the  lofty  citadel, 
where  streaming  in  the  morning  breeze,  radiant  in  the 
sunshine,  and  alone  in  the  blue  sky,  waved  the  white 
banner  of  France,  the  sight  of  which  sent  a  thrill  of  joy 
and  pride  into  the  hearts  of  her  faithful  subjects  in  th< 
N2w  World. 


MEN  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME,  | 

The  broad  Bay  lay  before  them  round  as  a  shield,  and 
glittering  like  a  mirror  as  the  mist  blew  off  its  surface. 
Behind  the  sunny  slopes  of  Orleans,  which  the  rivef 
encircled  in  its  arms  like  a  giant  lover  his  fair  mistress, 
rose  the  bold,  dark  crests  of  the  Laurentides,  lifting  their 
bare  summits  far  away  along  the  course  of  the  ancient 
river,  leaving  imagination  to  warder  over  the  wild  scenery 
in  their  midst — the  woods,  glens,  and  unknown  lakes  and 
rivers  that  lay  hid  far  from  human  ken,  or  known  only  to 
rude  savages,  wild  as  the  beasts  of  chase  they  hunted  in 
those  strange  regions.  *^fci  "^^t*  J^l'^'^^^i^^* 

Across  the  broad  valley  of  the  St.  Charles,  covered 
with  green  fields  and  ripening  harvests,  and  dotted  with 
quaint  old  homesteads  redolent  with  memories  of  Norman- 
dy and  Brittany,rose  a  long  mountain  ridge,  covered  with 
primeval  woods,  on  the  slope  of  which  rose  the  glittering  spire 
of  Charlebourg,  once  a  dangerous  outpost  of  civilization. 
The  pastoral  Lairet  was  seen  mingling  its  waters  with 
the  St.  Charles  in  a  little  bay  that  preserves  the  name  of 
Jacques  Cartier,  who  with  his  hardy  companions  spent  their 
first  winter  in  Canada  on  this  spot,  the  guests  of  the  hos- 
pitable Donacana,  Lord  of  Quebec  and  of  all  the  lands 
seen  from  its  lofty  cape. 

•  Directly  beneath  the  feet  of  the  Governor  on  a  broad 
'itrip  of  land  that  lay  between  the  beach  and  the  preci- 
pice, stood  the  many  gabled  pnlace  of  the  Intendant,  the 
most  magnificent  structure  in  New  France.  Its  long 
front  of  eight  hundred  feet  overlooked  the  royal  terraces 
and  gardens,  and  beyond  these  the  quays  and  magazines 
where  lay  the  ships  of  Bordeaux,  St.  Malo  and  Havre,  un- 
loading the  merchandize  and  luxuries  of  France  in  ex- 
change for  the  more  rude  but  not  less  valuable  products  of 
the  Colony. 

Between  the  Palace  and  the  Basseville  the  waves  at 
high  tide  washed  over  a  shingly  beach  where  there  were 
already  the  beginnings  of  a  street.  A  few  rude  inns  dis- 
played the  sign  of  the  Fleur  de  Lys,  or  the  imposing 
head  of  Louis  XV.  Round  the  doors  of  these  inns  in 
summer-time  might  always  be  found  groups  of  loquacious 
Breton  and  Norman  sailors  in  red  caps  and  sashes,  voy- 
ageurs  and  canoemen  from  the  far  west  in  half  Indian  cos- 
tume,drinking  Gascon  wine  and  Norman  cider  or  the  still 
more  potent  liquors  filled  with  the  fires  of  the  Antilles.  The 


THE  CHIEN  LfOR. 


!|l|  i9tf//ii/v  kindled  into  life  on  the  arrival  of  the  fleet  fitmi 
,.,  Home,  and  in  the  evenings  of  summer  as  the  sun  set  be 
f!l  bind  the  Cote  d  Bonhotnme,  the  natural  magnetism  of  com- 
panionship drew  the  lasses  of  Quebec  down  to  the  beach 
where  amid  old  refrains  of  French  ditties,  and  the  music  ol 
violins  and  tambours  de  Basque,  they  danced  on  the 
green  with  the  jovial  sailors  who  brought  news  from  the 
old  land  beyond  the  Atlantic. 

"  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  said 
the  Governor  as  he  descended  from  the  Bastion  and  rejoined 
his  suite.  "  I  am  so  proud  of  our  beautiful  Quebec,  that  I  can 
scarcely  stop  showing  off  its  charms  to  my  friend  Hen 
Kalm,  who  knows  so  well  how  to  appreciate  them.  But," 
continued  he,  looking  round  admiringly  on  the  bands  ol 
citizens  and  HabitanSy  who  were  at  work  strengthening 
every  weak  point  in  the  fortifications :  "  My  brave  Cana- 
dians are  busy  as  beavers  on  their  dam.  They  are  deter- 
mined to  keep  the  saucy  English  out  of  Quebec.  They  de- 
serve to  have  the  beaver  for  their  crest,  industrious  fellows 
that  they  are  !     I  am  sorry  I  kept  you  waiting,  however." 

"We  can  never  count  the  moments  lost,  which  your 
Excellency  gives  to  the  survey  of  our  fair  land,"  replied 
the  Bishop,  a  grave,  earnest-looking  man.  "  Would  that 
His  Majesty  himself  could  stand  on  these  walls  and  see 
with  his  own  eyes,  as  you  do,  this  splendid  patrimony  of 
the  crown  of  France.  He  would  not  dream  of  bartering 
it  away  in  exchange  for  petty  ends  and  corners  of  Ger- 
many and  Flanders  as  is  rumored,  my  Lord.*'' 

"  True  words  and  good,  my  Lora  Bishop,"  replied  the 
Governor,  "the  retention  of  all  Flanders  now  in  the  strong 
hands  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  would  be  a  poor  compensa- 
tion for  the  surrender  of  a  glorious  land  like  this  to  the 
English."  ' 

Flying  rumors  of  some  such  proposal  on  the  part  of 
j<rance  had  reached  the  colony,  with  wild  reports  arising 
out  of  the  endless  chaffering  between  the  negotiators  for 
pfsace  who  had  already  assembled  at  Aix  la  Chapelle. 
f  The  fate  of  America  will  one  day  be  decided  here,"  con- 
fltiued  the  governor,  "  I  see  it  written  upon  this  rock,  who- 
fver  rules  Quebec  will  sway  the  destinies  of  the  continent  I 
May  our  noble  France  be  tv'ise  and  understand  in  time  the 
aigns  of  Empire  and  of  supremacy ! " 

Th«  Bishop  looked  upwards  with  a  sigh :  "  Our  nobk 


MEN  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME. 


1 


France  has  not  yet  read  those  tokens,  or  she  misunder- 
standi  them.  Oh,  these  faithful  sybjects  of  hers  !  Look 
at  them,  your  Excellency.*'  The  Bishop  pointed  toward 
the  crowd  of  citizens  hard  at  work  on  the  walls.  "  There 
IS  not  a  man  of  them,  but  is  ready  to  risk  life  and  fortune 
for  the  honor  and  dominion  of  France,  and  yet  they  are 
treated  by  the  court  with  such  neglect  and  burthened  with 
exactions  that  take  from  life  the  sweet  reward  of  labor. 
They  cannot  do  the  impossible  that  France  requires  of 
them — fight  her  battles,  till  her  fields,  and  see  their  bread 
taken  from  them  by  these  new  ordinances  of  the  Intend- 
ant." 

"  Well,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  Governor  affecting  a  jocu"- 
larity  he  did  not  feel,  for  he  knew  how  true  were  the  words 
of  the  Bishop.  "  We  must  all  do  our  duty,  nevertheless. 
If  France  requires  impossibilities  of  us,  we  must  perform 
them !  That  is  the  old  spirit !  If  the  skies  fall  upon  our 
heads  we  must  like.true  Gauls  hold  them  up  on  the  points 
of  our  lances!  What  say  you,  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil? 
Cannot  one  Canadian  surround  ten  New  Englanders  ? " 
The  Governor  alluded  to  an  exploit  of  the  gallant  officer 
^hom  he  turned  to  address. 

"  Probatum  est^  your  Excellency !  I  once  with  six 
hundred  Canadians  surrounded  all  New  England.  Prayers 
were  put  up  in  all  the  churches  of  Boston  for  deliverance, 
when  we  swept  the  Connecticut  from  end  to  end  with  a 
broom  of  fire." 

"  Brave  Rigaud  !  France  has  too  few  like  you  ! "  re- 
marked the  Governor  with  a  look  of  admiration. 

Rigaud  bowed  and  shook  his  head  modestly,  "  I  trust 
she  has  ten  thousand  better,"  but  added,  pointing  at  his 
fellow  officers  who  stood  conversing  at  a  short  distance, 
'*  Marshal  Saxe  has  few  the  equals  of  these  in  his  camp, 
my  Lord  Count  I "  and  well  was  the  compliment  deserved. 

They  were  gallant  men,  intelligent  in  looks,  polished  in 
manners  and  brave  to  a  fault,  and  all  full  of  that  natural 
gaiety  that  sits  so  gracefully  on  a  French  soldier. 

Most  of  them  wore  the  laced  coat  and  waistcoat,  cha- 
peau,  boots,  lace  ruffles,  sash  and  rapier  of  the  period.  A 
martial  costume  befitting  bi  ive  and  handsome  men. 
Their  names  were  household  words  in  every  cottage  in 
New  France  and  many  of  them  as  frequently  spoken  of  in 
the  English  colonies,  as  in  the  streets  of  Quebec. 


THE  CHIEAT  jyt  R. 


There  stood  the  Chevalier  de  Beaujeu,  a  gentleman  <d 
Norman  family,  who  was  already  famed  upon  the  frontier, 
and  who,  seven  years  later  in  the  forests  of  the  Mononga- 
hela,  crowned  a  life  of  honor  by  a  soldier's  death  on  Sie 
bloody  field  won  from  the  unfortunate  Braddock,  and  de- 
feating an  army  ten  times  more  numerous  than  his  own. 

Talking  gayly  with  De  Beaujeu  were  two  gallant  looking 
young  men,  of  a  Canadian  family  which,  out  of  seven 
brothers,  lost  six  slain  in  the  service  of  their  King: 
Jumonville  de  Villiers,  who  was  afterwards,  in  defiance  of 
a  flag  of  truce,  shot  down  by  order  of  Colonel  Washington, 
in  the  far  off  forests  of  the  Alleghanies ;  and  his  brother, 
Coulon  de  Villiers,  who  received  the  sword  of  Washington 
when  he  surrendered  himself  and  garrison  prisoners  of  war, 
at  Fort  Necessity,  in  1754. 

Coulon  de  Villiers  imposed  ignominious  conditions  of 
surrender  upon  Washington,  but  scorned  to  take  other 
revenge  for  the  death  of  his  brother.  *  He  spared  the  life 
of  Washington,  who  lived  to  become  the  leader  and  idol  of 
his  nation,  which,  but  for  the  magnanimity  of  the  noble 
Canadian,  might  have  never  struggled  into  independence. 

There  stood  also  the  Sieur  de  Lery  (the  King's  engi- 
neer, charged  with  the  fortification,  of  the  colony),  a  man  of 
Vauban's  genius  in  the  art  of  defence.  Had  the  schemes 
which  he  projected,  and  vainly  urged  upon  the  heedless 
Court  of  Versailles,  been  carried  into  effect,  the  conquest 
of  New  France  would  have  been  an  impossibility. 

Arm  in  arm  with  De  Lery,  in  earnest  conversation, 
walked  the  handsome  Claude  de  Beauharnois — ^brother  of 
a  former  Governor  of  the  colony — a  graceful,  gallant 
looking  soldier.  De  Beauharnois  was  the  ancestor  of  a 
vigorous  and  beautiful  race,  among  whose  posterity  was  the 
fair  Hortense  de  Beauharnois,  who  in  her  son,  Napoleon 
III.,  seated  an  offshoot  of  Canada  upon  the  Imperial 
throne  of  France  long  after  the  abandonment  of  their 
ancient  colony  by  the  corrupt  House  of  Bourbon. 

Conspicuous  among  the  distinguished  ofl&cers,  by  his 
tall,  straight  figure  and  quick  movements,  was  the  Cheva- 
lier la  Corne  St.  Luc  supple  as  an  Indian  and  almost  as 
dark,  from  exposure  o  the  weather  and  incessant  cam- 
paigning. He  was  fresh  from  the  blood  and  desolation  of 
Acadia,  where  France,  indeed,  lost  her  ancient  colony, 
but  St.  Luc  reaped  a  full  sheaf  of  glory  at  Grand  Pii^ 


MEN  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME, 


:^4^ 


in  the  Bay  of  Minas,  by  the  capture  of  an  army  of  New 
Englpnders.  The  rough  old  soldier  was  just  now  all 
smiles  and  gayety,  as  he  conversed  with  Monseigneur  De 
Pontbriant,  the  venerable  Bishop  of  Quebec,  and  Father 
De  BeiCy,  the  Superior  of  the  Recollets. 

The  Bishop,  a  wise  ruler  of  his  Church,  was  also  a 
passionate  lov«r  of  his  country :  the  surrender  of  Quebec 
to  the  English  broke  h.is  heart,  and  he  died  a  few  months 
after  the  announcement  of  the  final  cession  of  the  colony. 

Father  De  Berey,  a  jovial  monk,  wearing  the  grey 
gown  and  sandals  of  the  Recollets,  was  renowned  through- 
out New  France  for  his  wit  more  than  for  his  piety.  He 
had  once  been  a  soldier,  and  he  wore  his  gown,  as  he  had 
worn  his  uniform,  with  the  gallant  bearing  of  a  King's 
Guardsman.  But  the  people  loved  him  all  the  more  for 
his  jests,  which  never  lacked  the  accompaniment  of  genuine 
charity.  His  sayings  furnished  all  New  France  with  daily 
food  for  mirth  and  laughter,  without  detracting  an  iota 
of  the  respect  in  which  the  Recollets  were  held  through- 
out the  colony. 

Father  Glapion,  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits,  also  accom- 
panied  the  Bishop.  His  close,  black  soutane,  contrasted 
oddly  with  the  grey,  loose  gown  of  the  RecoUet.  He  was 
a  meditative,  taciturn  man — seeming  rather  to  watch  the 
others  than  to  join  in  the  lively  conversation  that  went  on 
around  him.  Anything  but  cordiality  and  brotherly  love 
reigned  between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Order  of  St.  Francis, 
but  the  Superiors  were  too  wary  to  manifest  towards  each 
other  the  mutual  jealousies  of  their  subordinates. 

The  long  line  of  fortifications  presented  a  stirring 
appearance  that  morning.  The  watch-fires  that  had 
illuminated  the  scene  during  the  night  were  dying  out, 
the  red  embers  paling  under  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun. 
From  a  wide  circle  surrounding  the  city,  the  people  had 
come  in — many  were  accompanied  by  their  wives  and 
daughters — to  assist  in  making  the  bulwark  of  the  colony 
impregnable  against  the  rum<  red  attack  of  the  English. 

I'he  people  of  New  France,  taught  by  a  hundred  years 
of  almost  constant  warfare  with  the  English  and  with  tlie 
savage  nations  on  their  frontiers,  saw  as  clearly  as  the 
Governor,  that  the  key  of  French  dominion  hung  inside  the 
walls  of  Quebec,  and  that  for  an  enemy  to  grasp  it  was  to 
lose  all  they  valued  as  subjects  of  the  Crown  of  France. 


)4 

1 
1 

il 


li 


i 


CHAPTER  11. 


THE  WALLS  OP  QUEBEC. 

Count  De  la  Galissoniere,  accompaniea  by  his  dis 
tinguished  attendants,  proceeded  again  on  their  round  o! 
inspection.  They  were  everywhere  siluted  with  heads 
uncovered  and  welcomed  by  hearty  gnietings.  The  peo- 
ple of  New  France  had  lost  none  of  the  natural  polite- 
ness and  ease  of  their  ancestors;  and,  as  every  gentle- 
man of  the  Governor's  suite  was  at  once  recognized,  a 
conversation,  friendly  even  to  familiarity,  ensued  between 
them  and  the  citizens  and  habitans^  who  worked  as  if  they 
were  building  their  very  souls  into  the  walls  of  the  old 
city. 

"  Good  morning,  Sieur  De  St.  Denis ! "  gayly  exclaimed 
the  Governor  to  a  tall,  courtly  gentleman,  who  was  super- 
intending the  labor  of  a  body  of  his  censitaires  from  Beau- 
port.  "  '  Many  hands  make  light  work,'  says  the  proverb. 
That  splendid  battery  you  are  just  finishing  deserves  to  be 
called  Beauport.  "  What  say  you,  my  Lord  Bishop  ? "  turn- 
ing to  the  smiling  ecclesiastic.  "  Is  it  not  worthy  of  bap- 
tism ? " 

"  Yes,  and  blessing  both :  I  give  it  my  episcopal  bene- 
diction," replied  the  Bishop ;  **  and  truly  I  think  most  of 
the  earth  of  it  is  taken  from  the  consecrated  ground  of  the 
Hotel  Dieu— it  will  stand  fire  ! " 

"  Many  thanks,  my  Lord ! " — the  Sieur  De  St.  Denis 
bowed  very  low — "  where  the  Church  bars  the  door,  Satan 
will  never  enter,  nor  the  English  either!  Do  you  hear, 
men  ? "  continued  he,  turning  to  his  censitaires^  "  my  Lord 
Bishop  christens  our  batter}'  Beauport,  and  says  it  will 
stand  fire ! " 

"  Vive  ie  Hoi  /"  was  the  response,  an  exclamation  that 
came  spontaneously  to  the  lips  of  all  Frenchmen  on  everjp 
emergency  of  danger  or  emotion  of  joy. 


l: 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


tt 


A  sturdy  Habitan  came  forward,  and,  doffing  his  red 
tttque  or  cap,  addressed  the  Governor — "  This  \%  a  good 
battery,  my  Lord  Governor,  but  there  ought  to  be  one  as 
good  in  our  village.  Permit  us  to  build  one  and  man  it ; 
and  we  promise  your  Excellency  that  no  Englishman  shall 
ever  get  into  the  back  door  of  Quebec,  while  we  have  lives 
to  defend  it."  I'he  old  habitan  had  the  eye  of  a  soldier 
He  had  been  one.  The  Governor  knew  the  value  of  the 
suggestion,  and  at  once  assented  to  it,  adding :  "  No  better 
defenders  of  the  city  could  be  found  anywhere  than  the 
brave  habitans  of  Beauport." 

The  compliment  was  never  forgotten ;  and  years  after- 
wards, when  Wolfe  besieged  the  city,  the  batteries  of 
Beauport  repelled  the  assault  of  his  bravest  troops,  and 
well  nigh  broke  the  heart  of  the  young  hero  over  the 
threatened  defeat  of  his  great  undertaking,  as  his  brav« 
Highlanders  and  grenadiers  lay  slain  by  hundreds  upon 
the  beach  of  Beauport.    .^  ^ 

The  countenances  of  the  hardy  workers  were  suddenly 
covered  with  smiles  of  welcome  recognition  at  the  sight  of 
the  well-known  Superior  of  the  Recollets. 

"  Good  morning  ! "  cried  out  a  score  of  voices ;  "  good 
morning,  Father  De  Berey !  The  good  wives  of  Beauport 
send  you  a  thousand  compliments.  They  are  dying  to  see 
the  good  Recollets  down  our  way  again.  The  Grey  Brothers 
have  forsaken  our  parish.'* 

"  Ah ! "  replied  the  Superior,  in  a  tone  of  mock  severity, 
while  his  eyes  overran  with  mirthfulness,  "  you  are  a 
crowd  of  miserable  sinners  who  will  die  without  benefit  of 
clergy — only  you  don't  know  it  1  WJio  was  it  boiled  the 
Easter  eggs  hard  as  agates  which  you  gave  to  my  poor 
brother  Recollets  for  the  use  of  our  convent  ?  Tell  me 
that,  pray !  All  the  salts  and  senna  in  Quebec  have  not 
sufficed  to  restore  the  digestion  of  my  poor  monks  since 
you  played  that  trick  upon  them  down  in  your  misnamed 
village  of  Beauport !  " 

"  Pardon  1  Reverend  Father  De  Berey !  "  replied  a 
smiling  habitan :  "  it  was  not  we,  but  the  sacrilegious 
canaille  of  St.  Anne,  who  soiled  the  Easter  eggs !  If  you 
don't  believe  us  send  some  of  the  good  Grey  Friars  down  to 
try  our  love.  See  if  they  do  not  find  everything  soft  for 
ihem  at  Beauport,  from  our  hearts  to  our  feather  beds,  to 
say  nothing  of  our  eggs  and  bacon.     Our  good  wives  are 


tt 


Tim  CHIEN  D'OR. 


fairly  melting  with  longing  for  a  sight  of  the  grey  «;owiii 
of  St.  Francis  once  more  in  our  village." 

"  Oh !  I  dare  be  bound  the  canaille  of  St.  Anne  are  lost 
dogs  like  yourselves — Catuli  catulorum." 

The  habitans  thought  this  sounded  like  a  doxology,  and 
some  crossed  themselves,  amid  the  dubious  laughter  of 
others,  who  suspected  Father  De  Berey  of  a  clerical  jest. 

"  Oh ! "  continued  he,  "  if  fat  Father  Ambrose,  the  cook 
of  the  convent,  only  had  you,  one  at  a  time,  to  turn  the 
spit  for  him,  in  place  of  the  poor  dogs  of  Quebec,  which 
he  has  to  catch  as  best  he  can,  and  set  to  work  in  his 
kitchen  I  but,  vagabonds  that  you  are,  you  are  rarely  set 
to  work  now  on  the  King's  corvie — all  work,  little  play,  and 
no  pay  I " 

The  men  took  his  raillery  in  excellent  part,  and  one, 
their  spokesman,  bowing  low  to  the  Superior,  said  :  "  For- 
give us  all  the  same,  good  Father.  The  hard  eggs  of 
Beauport  will  be  soft  as  lard  compared  with  the  iron 
shells  we  are  preparing  for  the  English  breakfast  when 
they  shall  appear  some  fine  morning  before  Quebec." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  that  case  I  must  pardon  the  trick  you 
played  upon  Brothers  Mark  and  Alexis — and  I  give  you 
my  blessing,  too,  on  condition  you  send  some  salt  to  our 
convent  to  cure  our  fish,  and  save  your  reputations,  which 
are  very  stale  just  now  among  my  good  Recollets." 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  sally,  and  the  Reverend 
Superior  went  off  merrily,  as  he  hastened  to  catch  up 
with  the  Governor,  who  had  moved  on  to  another  point  in 
the  line  of  fortifications. 

Near  the  gate  of  St.  John  they  found  a  couple  of  ladies, 
encouraging  by  their  presence  and  kind  words  a  numerous 
party  of  habitans — one  an  elderly  lady  of  noble  bearing 
and  still  beautiful,  the  rich  and  powerful  feudal  Lady  of 
the  Lordship  or  Seigneurie  of  Tilly ;  the  other  her  orphan 
niece,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  and  of  surpassing  loveliness 
-—the  fair  Amdlie  De  Repentigny,  who  had  loyally  accom* 
panied  her  aunt  to  the  capital  with  all  the  men  of  the 
Seigneurie  of  Tilly,  to  assist  in  the  convpletion  of  its 
defences. 

To  features  which  looked  as  if  chiselled  out  of  the  purest 
Parian  marble,  just  flushed  witl  the  glow  of  morn,  and 
cut  in  those  perfect  lines  of  proportion  which  nature  only 
bestows  on  a  few  chosen  favorites  at  intervals  to  show  th« 


THE  WALLS  Olf  QUEBEC, 


1^ 


possibilities  of  feminine  beauty,  Ain^lie  De  Repentigny 
added  a  figure  which,  in  its  perfect  symmetry,  looked 
smaller  than  it  really  was,  for  she  was  a  tall  girl :  it  filled 
the  eye  and  held  fast  the  fancy  with  the  charms  of  a  thou- 
sand graces  as  she  moved  or  stood,  suggestive  of  the 
beauty  of  a  tame  fawn,  that  in  all  its  movements  pre- 
serves somewhat  of  the  coyness  and  easy  grace  of  its  free  life 

Her  hair  was  very  dark  and  thick,  matching  her  deep 
liquid  eyes,  that  lay  for  the  most  part  so  quietly  and  rest* 
fully  beneath  their  long  shading  lashes.  Eyes  gentle, 
frank,  and  modest — looking  tenderly  on  all  things  innocent, 
fearlessly  on  all  things  harmful ;  eyes  that  nevertheless 
noted  every  change  of  your  countenance,  and  read  uner- 
ringly your  meaning  more  from  your  looks  than  from 
your  words.  Nothing  seemed  to  hide  itself  from  that 
pure,  searching  glance  when  she  chose  to  look  at  you. 

In  their  depths  you  might  read  the  tokens  of  a  rare 
and  noble  character — a  capability  of  loving  which,  once 
enkindled  by  a  worthy  object,  might  make  all  things  that 
are  possible  to  devoted  womanhood,  possible  to  this 
woman,  who  would  not  count  her  life  anything  either 
for  the  man  she  loved  or  the  cause  she  espoused.  Am^lie 
De  Repentigny  will  not  yield  her  heart  without  her  judg- 
ment ;  but  when  she  does,  it  will  be  a  royal  gift — never  to 
be  recalled,  never  to  be  repented  of,  to  the  end  of  her  life. 
Happy  the  man  upon  whom  she  shall  bestow  her  affec- 
tion I  It  will  be  his  forever.  Unhappy  all  others  who 
may  love  her  I  She  may  pity,  but  she  will  listen  to  no 
voice  but  the  one  which  rules  her  heart,  to  her  life's  end  I 

Both  ladies  were  in  mourning,  yet  dressed  with  elegant 
simplicity,  befitting  their  rank  and  position  in  society.  The 
Chevalier  Le  Gardeur  de  Tilly  had  fallen  two  years  ago, 
fighting  gallantly  for  his  King  and  country,  leaving  a  child- 
less widow  to  manage  his  vast  domain  and  succeed  him  as 
sole  guardian  of  their  orphan  niece,  Amelie  de  Repen- 
tigny, and  her  brother  Le  Gardeur,  left  in  infancy  to  the 
care  of  their  noble  relatives,  who  in  every  respect  treated 
them  as  their  own,  and  who,  indeed,  were  the  legal  inheri- 
tors of  the  Lordship  of  Tilly. 

Only  a  year  ago,  Amdlie  had  left  the  ancient  convent 
of  the  Ursulines,  perfected  in  all  the  graces  and  accom- 
plishments taught  in  the  famous  cloister  founded  by  Mbre 
Marie  de  ITncarnation,  for  the  education  of  the  daughters 


u 


THE  CHIBK  EtOR. 


%■ 


of  New  France,  f^eneration  after  generation  of  whom  were 
trained  according  to  her  piecepts,  in  graces  of  manner,  ai 
4i^\\  as  in  the  learning  of  the  age — the  latter  might  be  for- 
gotten— the  former,  never.  As  they  became  the  wives  and 
mothers  of  succeeding  times,  they  have  left  upon  their  de- 
scendants an  impress  of  politeness  and  urbanity  that  distin- 
guishes tl  e  people  of  Canada  to  this  day. 

Of  all  the  crowd  of  fair  eager  aspirants  contending  foi 
honors  on  the  day  of  examination  in  the  great  school, 
crowns  had  only  been  awarded  to  Am^lie  and  to  Ang^lique 
des  Meloises.  Two  girls  equal  in  beauty,  grace  and  ac- 
complishments, but  unlike  in  character  and  in  destiny. 
The  currents  of  their  lives  ran  smoothly  together  at  the 
beginning.  How  widely  different  was  to  be  the  ending  of 
them  1 

The  brother  of  Amdlie,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny, 
was  her  elder  by  a  year — an  officer  in  the  King's  service, 
handsome,  brave,  generous,  devoted  to  his  sister  and  aunt, 
but  not  free  from  some  of  the  vices  of  the  times,  prevalent  ■. 
among  the  young  men  of  rank  and  fortune  in  the  colony, 
who  in  dress,  luxury  and  immorality,  strove  to  imitate  the 
brilliant,  dissolute  Court  of  Louis  XV. 

Am^lie  passionately  loved  her  brother,  and  endeavored 
— not  without  success,  as  is  the  way  with  women — to  blind 
herself  to  his  faults.  She  saw  him  seldom,  however,  and  , 
in  her  solitary  musings  in  the  far  off  Manor  House  of  Tilly, 
she  invested  him  with  all  the  perfections  he  did  and  did 
not  possess ;  and  turned  a  deaf,  almost  an  angry  ear,  to  tales 
whispered  in  his  disparagement. 


my^na^ 


■^i  •U-.tM-'l  ..-M".*'' 


CHAPTER  III. 


A  CHATELA:NE  of   new  FRANCE. 


The  Governor  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  encounter 
Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  fair  niece,  both  of  whom  were  well 
known  to,  and  highly  esteemed  by  him.  He  and  the  gientle- 
men  of  his  suite  saluted  them  with  profound  respect,  not 
unmingled  with  chivalrous  admiration  for  noble,  high* 
^iritc:d  women. 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW  FRANCB.  i| 

*'  My  honored  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Mademoiselle  de  Re* 
pcntigny :  "  said  the  Governor — hat  in  hand — "  welcome 
to  Quebec.  It  does  not  surprise,  but  it  does  delight  me 
beyond  measure  to  meet  you  here  at  the  head  of  your  loyal 
umitaireu  But  it  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  ladies  of 
the  House  of  Tilly  have  turned  out  to  defend  the  King's 
forts  against  his  enemies."  * 

This  he  said  in  allusion  to  the  gallant  defence  of  a  fort 
on  the  wild  Iroquois  frontier,  by  a  former  lady  of  her  house, 
who,  while  her  husband  lay  wounded  within  the  walls,  as- 
sumed the  command  of  the  garrison,  repulsed  the  savage 
enemy,  and  saved  the  lives  of  all  from  the  fire  and  scalping 
knife. 

"  My  Lord  Count !  "  replied  the  Lady  with  quiet  dignity, 
"  'Tis  no  special  merit  of  the  house  of  Tilly  to  be  true  to 
its  ancient  fame.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  But  your 
thanks  are  at  this  time  more  due  to  these  loyal  Habitans^ 
who  have  so  promptly  obeyed  your  proclamation.  It  is  the 
King's  corvke  to  restore  the  walls  of  Quebec,  and  no 
Canadian  may  withhold  his  hand  from  it  without  disgrace." 

**  The  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc  will  think  us  two  poor 
women  a  weak  accession  to  the  garrison,"  added  she,  turn- 
ing to  the  Chevalier  and  cordially  offering  her  hand  to  the 
brave  old  officer  who  had  been  the  comrade  in  arms  and 
the  dearest  friend  of  her  family. 

"Good  blood  never  fails,  My  Lady,"  returned  the 
Chevalier  warmly  grasping  her  hand,  "you  out  of  place  here  I 
no !  no  I  you  are  at  home  on  the  ramparts  of  Quebec,  quite 
as  much  as  in  your  own  drawing-room  at  Tilly.  The  gal- 
lant King  Francis  used  to  say,  that  a  court  without  ladies, 
was  a  year  without  a  spring  and  a  summer  without  roses. 
The  walls  of  Quebec  without  a  Tilly  and  a  Repentigny 
would  be  a  bad  omen  indeed,  worse  than  a  year  without  a 
spring  or  a  summer  without  roses.  But  where  is  my  dear 
goddaughter  Am^lie  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  old  soldier  embraced  Am^lie  and 
kissed  her  cheek  with  fatherly  effusion.  She  was  a  prodig- 
ious favorite.  ''  Welcome  Amdlie  !"  said  he,  "the  sight  of 
ou  is  like  flowers  in  June.  What  a  glorious  time  you  have 
ad,  growing  taller  and  prettier  every  day,  all  the  time  I 
have  been  sleeping  by  camp  fires  in  the  forests  of  Acadia  1 
But  you  girls  are- all  alike;  why  I  hardly  knew  my  own 
pretty  Agathe  when  I  came  home.     The  saucy  minx  almost 


I 


4 

I X 


li 


t6 


THE  CUJEN  DOR. 


If 


kissed  my  eyes  out,  to  dry  the  tears  of  joy  in  them,  shs 
laid!" 

Amdie  blushed  deeply  at  the  praises  bestowed  upon 
her,  yet  felt  glad  to  know  that  her  godfather  retained  all 
his  old  affection.  '*Where  is  Le  Gardeur  ? "  asked  he,  as 
ahe  took  his  arm  and  walked  a  few  paces  apart  from  the 
throng. 

Ani^lie  colored  deeply  and  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  do 
not  know,  godfather  I  We  have  not  seen  Le  Gardeur  since 
our  arrival.  Then  after  a  nervous  silence  she  added  :  **  I 
have  been  told  that  he  is  at  Beaumanoir,  hunting  with  His 
Excellency  the  Intendant."  .^j^ 

La  Come,  seeing  her  embarrassment,  unf':  *  O'''  the 
reluctance  of  her  avowal,  and  sympathizpt*  wi^a  it.  An 
angry  light  flashed  beneath  his  shaggy  eyf  i.ir'  s,  but  he 
suppressed  his  thoughts.  He  couM  i.  '  help  romarkine 
however,  "With  the  Intendant  at  Boctiu.ianoir !  I  could 
have  wished  Le  Gardeur  in  better  company!  No  good 
can  come  of  his  intimacy  with  Bigot,  Am^lie,  you  must 
wean  him  from  it.  He  should  have  been  in  the  city  to 
receive  you  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly." 

"  So  he  doubtless  would  have  been,  had  he  known  of 
our  coming.  We  sent  word,  but  he  was  away  when  our 
messenger  reached  the  city."  i^ 

Am?l'e  felt  half  ashamed,  for  she  was  conscious  that 
she  wab  offering  something  unreal  to  extenuate  the  fault  of 
her  brother.     Her  hopes  rather  than  her  convictions. 

"  Well,  well !  goddaughter !  we  shall,  at  any  rate,  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Le  Gardeur.  The  Intendant 
himself  has  been  summoned  to  attend  a  council  of  war  to- 
day.    Colonel  Philibert  left  an  hour  ago  for  Beaumanoir." 

Am^lie  gave  a  slight  start  at  the  name,  she  looked  in- 
quiringly, but  did  not  yet  ask  the  question  that  trembled  on 
her  lips. 

"  Thanks,  godfather,  for  th<»  good  n^ws  of  Lo  Gardeur*s 
speedy  return."  Am/ ii?  tsikiion,  hti  thoughts  but  little 
accompanying  her  worus,  as  she  repeated  to  herself  the 
name  of  Philibert.  "  Have  you  heard  that  the  Intendant 
wishes  to  bestow  an  important  and  honorable  post  in  the 
Palace  upon  Le  Gardeur,— my  brother  wrote  to  that  effect  ?" 

"  An  important  and  honorable  post  in  the  Palace." 
The  old  soldier  emphasized  the  word  honorable.  "  No,  I 
;iad  not  heard  of  it,  never  expect  to  hear  of  an  honorable 


A  CHA  TELAINE  OE  ATJSH*  FRANCE, 


t7 


post  in  the  company  of  Bif^t,  Cadet,  Varin,  De  Pean,  and 
the  rest  of  the  scoundrels  of  the  Friponne  I  Pardon  me, 
dear,  I  do  not  class  Le  Gardeur  among  them,  far  from  it^ 
dear  deluded  boy  !  My  best  hope  is  that  Colonel  Philibert 
will  find  him  and  bring  him  clean  and  clear  out  of  their 
clutches." 

T^e  question  that  had  trembled  on  her  lips  came  out 
now.     For  her  life  she  could  not  have  retained  it  longer. 

"Who  is  Colonel  Philibert?  godfather,"  asked  she, 
surprise,  curiosity  and  a  still  deeper  interest  marking  her 
voice,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do  to  appea     »ndifferent. 

"Colonel  Philibert?"  repeated  La  Coi  -.  'JWhy,  do 
not  you  know  ?  who,  but  our  young  Pkerre  J'hilibert,  j^u 
have  not  forgotten  him  surely,  Amelie  ?  At  ny  r^te  he 
has  not  forgotten  you.  In  many  a  long  ni^h*  b)  om  watch 
fires  in  the  forest,  has  Colonel  Philibert  p  ^seii  he  houis 
talking  of  Tilly  and  the  dear  friends  ic  let  ther  ♦.  Your 
brother  at  any  rate  will  gratefully  remember  ,'!  't  when 
he  sees  him." 

Amelie  blushed  a  '  ttle  as  she  replied  son 
"  Yes,  godfather,  I  remember  Pierre  Philiber' 
with  gratitude  I  rementber  him — but  I   ne\ei 
called  Colonel  Philibert  before." 

"  Oh,  true  1  He  has  been  so  long  absent, 
simple  ensign  en  second  and  returns  a  Colonel,  a 
stuff  in  him  to  make  a  Field  Marshal  I  He 
rank  where  he  won  his  gl^ry,  in  Acadia.  A  nc 
Amelie,  loving  as  a  womar^  to  his  friends  ;  but  to 
stern  as  the  old  Bourgeois,  his  father,  who  pi 
tablet  of  the  golden  dog  upon  the  front  of  his  house  spite 
the  Cardinal  they  say.  The  act  of  a  bold  man  lei  what 
will  be  the  true  interpretation  of  it." 

"  I  hear  everyone  speak  well  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert.? 
remarked  Amelie,  "  Aunt  dt  Tilly  is  ever  enthusiastic  in 
his  commendation.  She  says  he  is  a  true  gentleman, 
although  a  trader." 

"  Wh)',  he  is  noble  by  birth,  if  that  be  needed,  and  has 
got  the  king's  license  to  trade  in  the  colony  like  some 
other  gentlemen  I  wot  of.  He  was  Count  Philibert  in 
Normandy,  although  he  is  plain  Bourgeois  Philibert  in 
Quebec,  and  a  wise  man  he  is  too,  for  with  his  ships  and  his 
comptoirs  and  his  ledgers  he  has  traded  himself  into  being 
the  richest  man  in  New  France,  while  we  with  our  nobilit| 


hat  shyly, 

ery  well— 
leard  him 


ie  left  a 
has  the 
'\tA  his 
'  fellow 
is  foes, 

X  ed  that 


1 


i3 


THE  CHIEN  I  OR. 


and  our  swords  have  fought  ourselves  poor,  and  receive 
nothing  but  contempt  from  the  ungrateful  courtiers  ol 
Versailles." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  rush  of 
people,  making  room  for  the  passage  of  the  Regiment  of 
Beam,  which  composed  part  of  the  garrison  of  Quebec,  on 
their  march  to  their  morning  drill,  and  guard  mounting, 
bold  dashing  Gascons  in  blue  and  white  uniforms,  tall  caps 
and  long  queues  rollicking  down  their  supple  backs,  seldom 
seen  by  an  enemy.  ,^' *../',  >^    y.   .^ ,    .v;-,,^/^^ 

Mounted  officers,  laced  and  ruffled,  gayly  rode  in  front. 
Subalterns  with  spontoons  and  sergeants  with  halberts 
dressed  the  long  line  of  glistening  bayonets.  The  drums 
and  fifes  made  the  streets  ring  again,  while  the  men  in  full 
chorus,  <i  gorge  deployie^  chanted  the  gay  refrain  of  La  Belle 
Canadienne,  in  honor  of  the  lasses  of  Quebec  whose  bright 
eyes  ever  looked  kindly  upon  the  royal  uniform,  and  whose 
sweet  smiles  were  never  withheld  from  the  gallant  soldiers 
wearing  it,  whether  Gaul  or  Briton. 

The  Governor  and  his  suite  had  already  mounted  their 
horses  which  were  waiting  for  them  at  the  city  gate,  and 
cantered  off  to  the  Esplanade  to  witness  the  review.  • 

"  Come  and  dine  with  us  to-day,"  said  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  to  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  as  he  too  bade  the  ladies  a  court- 
eous adieu,  and  got  on  horseback  to  ride  after  the  Governor. 

"  Many  thanks  !  but  I  fear  it  will  be  impossible,  my 
lady.  The  council  of  war  meets  at  the  Castle  this  after- 
noon. The  hour  may  be  deferred,  however,  should  Colonel 
Philibert  not  chance  to  find  the  Intendant  at  Beauraanoir, 
and  then  I  might  come  ;  but  best  not  expect  me."    ,  i.'di.? 

A  slight  conscious  flush  just  touched  the  cheek  of 
Amdlie  at  the  mention  of  Colonel  Philibert. 

"  But  come  if  possible,  godfather,"  added  she,  "  we  hope 
to  have  Le  Gardeur  home  this  afternoon.  He  loves  you 
so  much,  and  I  know  you  have  countless  things  to  say  to 
him."        y  ;«.  i.,;*U 

Amdie's  .rembling  anxiety  about  her  brother,  made  her 
most  desirous  to  bring  the  powerful  influence  of  La  Corne 
St.  Luc  to  bear  upon  him. 

Their  kind  old  godfather  was  regarded  with  filial  reV' 
erence  by  both.  Amdlie's  father  dying  on  the  battle  field, 
had  with  his  latest  breath  commended  the  care  of  hij 
children  to  the  love  and  friendship  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc.    ;  i 


-it 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


«9 


"  Well  Am^lie,  blessed  are  they  who  do  not  promise 
and  stiil  perform.  I  must  try  and  meet  my  dear  boy,  so 
do  not  quite  place  me  among  the  impossibles.  Good  bye, 
my  Lady.  Good  bye,  Am^lie."  The  old  soldier  gaily 
kissed  his  hand  and  rode  away. 

Amelie  was  thoroughly  surprised,  and  agitated  out  ol 
all  composure  by  the  news  of  the  return  of  Pierre  Philibert. 
She  turned  aside  from  the  busy  throng  that  surrounded . 
her,  leaving  her  aunt  engaged  in  eager  conversation  with  the 
Bishop  and  Father  de  Berey.  She  sat  down  in  a  quiet  em- 
brasure of  the  wall,  and  with  one  hand  resting  her  droop- 
ing cheek,  a  train  of  reminiscences  flew  across  her  mind 
like  a  flight  of  pure  doves  suddenly  startled  out  of  a 
thicket. 

'  She  remembered  vividly  Pierre  Philibert  the  friend  and 
fellow  student  of  her  brother.  He  spent  so  many  of  his 
holidays  at  the  old  manor  house  of  Tilly,  when  she,  a  still 
younger  girl,  shared  their  sports,  wove  chaplets  of  flowers 
for  them,  or  on  her  shaggy  pony  rode  with  them  on  many 
a  scamper  through  the  wild  woods  of  the  Seigneurie 
Those  summer  and  winter  vacations  of  tl>e  old  Seminary 
of  Quebec  used  to  be  looked  forward  to  by  the  young  lively 
girl  as  the  brightest  spots  in  the  whole  year,  and  she  grew 
hardly  to  distinguish  the  affection  she  bore  her  brother 
from  the  regard  in  which  she  held  Pierre  Philibert. 

A  startling  incident  happened'one  day,  that  filled  the 
inmates  of  the  Manor  house  with  terror,  followed  by  a 
great  joy,  and  which  raised  Pierre  Philibert  to  the  rank 
of  an  unparalleled  hero  in  the  imagination  of  the  young 
girl. 

Her  brother  was  gambolling  carelessly  in  a  canoe, 
while  she  and  Pierre  sat  on  the  ^ank  watching  him.  The 
light  craft  suddenly  upset.  Le  Gardeur  struggled  for  a 
few  moments  and  sank  under  the  blue  waves  that  look  so 
beautiful  and  are  so  cruel.      *  ""  *      •*         •      '^  '^J^* 

Amelie  shrieked  in  the  wildest  terror  and  in  helpless 
agony,  while  Philibert  rushed  without  hesitation  into  the 
water ;  swam  out  to  the  spot  and  dived  with  the  agility  of 
a  beaver.  He  presently  re-appeared  bearing  the  inanimate 
body  of  her  brother  to  the  shore.  Help  was  soon  obtain* 
ed  and  after  long  efforts  to  restore  Le  Gardeur  to  con- 
sciousness, efforts  which  seemed  to  last  an  age  to  the  des- 
pairing girl,  they  at  last  su  ceeded,  and  Le  Gardeur  was 


St 


to 


THE  CHIEN  2fOR, 


restored  to  the  arms  of  his  family.     Amdlie,  in  a  delirium 
of  joy  and  gratitude,  ran  to   Philibert,  threw  her  arms 
round  him  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  p.edging  her 
eternal  gratitude  to  the  preserver  of  her  brother,  and  vow 
ing  that  she  would  pray  for  him  to  her  life's  end. 

Soon  after  that  memorable  event  in  her  young  life, 
Pierre  Philibert  was  sent  to  the  great  military  schools  ii: 
France,  to  study  the  art  of  war,  with  a  view  to  entering  the 
King's  service  ;  while  Amdlie  was  placed  in  the  Convent 
of  the  Ursulines  to  be  perfected  in  all  the  knowledge  and 
accomplishments  of  a  lady  of  highest  rank  in  the  Colony. 

Despite  the  cold  shade  of  a  cloister,  where  the  idea  of 
a  lover  is  forbidden  to  enter,  the  image  of  Pierre  Philibert 
did  intrude,  and  became  inseparable  from  the  recollection 
of  her  brother  in  the  mind  of  Amdlie.  He  mingled  as  the 
fairy  prince  in  the  day  dreams  and  bright  imaginings  of 
the  young  poetic  girl.  She  had  vowed  to  pray  for  him  to 
her  life's  end,  and  in  pursuance  of  her  vow  added  a  golden 
bead  to  her  chaplet  to  remind  her  of  her  duty  in  praying 
for  the  safety  and  happiness  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

But  in  the  quiet  life  of  the  Cloister,  Amdlie  heard  little 
of  the  storms  of  war  upon  the  frontier,  and  down  in  the 
far  valleys  of  Acadia.  She  had  not  followed  the  career 
of  Pierre  from  the  military  school  to  the  camp  and  the 
battle  field,  nor  knew  of  his  rapid  promotion  as  one  of  the 
ablest  officers  in  the  King's  service  to  a  high  command  in 

his  native  Colony.  i>,  :^«j?w    n:t;n^:  ;     -  )  -. 

Her  surprise,  therefore,  was  extreme  when  she  learned 
that  the  boy  companion  of  her  brother  and  herself  was 
no  other  than  the  renowned  Colonel  Philibert,  Aid  de  Camp 
of  His  Excellency  the  Governor  General. 

There  was  no  cause  for  shame  in  it ;  but  her  heart  was 
suddenly  illuminated  by  a  flash  of  introspection.  She  be- 
came painfully  conscious  how  much  Pierre  Philibert  had 
occupied  her  thoughts  for  years,  and  now  all  at  once  she 
knew  he  was  a  man,  and  a  great  and  noble  one.  She  was 
thoroughly  perplexed  and  half  angry.  She  questioned  her- 
self sharply,  as  if  running  thorns  into  her  flesh,  to  inquire 
whether  she  had  failed  in  the  leas:  point  of  maidenly 
modesty  and  reserve,  in  thinking  sq  much  of  him ;  and 
the  more  she  questioned  herself  the  more  agitated  she 
grew  under  her  self-accusation.  Her  temples  throbbed 
violently.     She  hardly  dared  lift  her  eyes  from  the  ground 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


•I 


lest  some  one,  even  a  stranger,  she  thought,  might  see  her 
confusion  and  read  its  cause.  *'  Sancta  Maria,"  she  mur- 
mured, pressing  her  bosom  with  both  hands,  "  calm  my 
soul  with  thy  divine  peace,  for  I  know  not  what  to  do  I " 

So  she  sat  alone  in  the  embrasure,  living  a  life  of  em<K 
tion  in  a  few  minutes  ;  nor  did  she  find  any  calm  for  her 
agitated  spirits  until  the  thought  flashed  upon  her  that  she 
was  distressing  herself  needlessly.  It  was  most  improba- 
ble that  Colonel  Philibert,  after  years  of  absence  and  ac- 
tive life  in  the  world's  great  affairs,  could  retain  any  recol* 
lection  of  the  school  girl  of  the  Manor  house  of  Tilly. 
She  might  meet  him,  nay,  was  certain  to  do  so  in  the  society 
in  which  both  moved ;  but  it  would  surely  be  as  a  stranger 
on  his  part,  and  she  must  make  it  so  on  her  own. 

With  this  empty  piece  of  casuistry,  Amdlie,  like  others 
of  her  sex,  placed  a  hand  of  steel,  encased  in  a  silken 
glove,  upon  her  heart,  and  tyrannically  suppressed  its  yearn- 
ings. She  was  a  victim,  with  the  outward  show  of  conquest 
over  her  feelings.  In  the  consciousness  of  Philibert's  im- 
agined indifference,  and  utter  forgetfulness,  she  could  meet 
him  now,  she  thought,  with  equanimity — nay,  rather  wish- 
ed to  do  so,  to  make  sure  that  she  had  not  been  guilty  of 
weakness  in  regard  to  him.  She  looked  up,  but  was  glad 
to  see  her  aunt  still  engaged  in  conversation  with  the 
Bishop,  on  a  topic  which  Am^lie  knew  was  dear  to  them 
both,  the  care  of  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  poor,  in  par- 
ticular those  for  whom  the  Lady  de  Tilly  felt  herself  re- 
sponsible to  God  and  the  King. 

While  Amdlie  sat  thinking  over  the  strange  chances  of 
the  morning,  a  sudden  whirl  of  wheels  drew  her  attention. 
A  gay  caliche,  drawn  by  two  spirited  horses,  enfliche,  dash- 
ed through  the  gateway  of  St.  John,  and  wheeling  swtftly  to- 
wards Am^lie,  suddenly  halted.  A  young  lady,  attired  in  the 
gayest  fashion  of  the  period,  throwing  the  reins  to  the 
groom,  sprang  out  of  the  calfeche  with  the  ease  and  elas- 
ticity of  an  antelope.  She  ran  up  the  rampart  to  Amdlie 
with  a  glad  cry  of  recognition,  repeating  her  name  in  a 
clear  musical  voice,  which  Amdlie  at  once  knew  belonged 
to  no  other  than  the  gay,  beautiful  Angdlique  des  Meloises. 
The  new  comer  embraced  Am^lie  and  kissed  her  with 
warmest  expressions  of  joy  at  meeting  her  tl  us  unexpect- 
edly in  the  city.  She  had  learned  that  Lady  de  Tilly  had 
returned  to  Quebec,  she  said,  and  she  had,  therefore,  taken 


I  tf'- 


Up 


»i 


THE  CHIEN  nOk. 


the  earliest  opportunity  to  find  out  her  dear  friend  ami 
school  fellow,  to  tell  her  all  the  doings  in  the  city. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you,  Ang^lique,"  replied  Am^he,  return 
ing  her  caress  warmly,  but  witl)out  effusion.  "We  hav« 
simply  come  with  our  people  to  assist  in  the  Kings's  corvie. 
When  that  is  done  we  shall  return  to  Tilly.  I  felt  sure  1 
should  meet  you,  and  thought  I  should  know  you  again 
easily,  which  I  hardly  do.  How  you  are  changed,  for  the 
better,  I  should  say,  since  you  left  off  conventual  cap  and 
costume  ! "  Amelie  could  not  but  look  admiringly  on  the 
beauty  of  the  radiant  girl.  "  How  handsome  you  have 
grown !  but  you  were  always  that.  We  both  took  the 
crown  of  hoiior  together,  but  you  would  alone  take  the 
crown  of  beauty,  Angdlique."  Amdlie  stood  off  a  pace  or 
two  and  looked  at  her  friend  from  head  to  foot  with  honest 
admiration,  "  and  would  deserve  to  wear  it  too,"  added  she. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,  Amdlie,  I  should  prefer 
the  crown  of  beauty  to  all  other  crowns !  You  half  smile 
at  that,  but  I  must  tell  the  truth,  if  you  do.  But  you  were 
always  a  truth-teller,  you  know,  in  the  convent,  and  I  was 
not  so  !     Let  us  cease  flatteries." 

Angdiique  felt  highly  flattered  by  the  praise  of  Amdlie. 
whom  she  had  sometimes  condescended  to  envy  for  her 
graceful  figure  and  lovely  expressive  features. 

"  Gentlemen  often  speak  as  you  do,  Amdlie,"  continued 
she,  "but,  pshaw!  they  cannot  judge  as  girls  do,  you 
know.  But  do  you  really  think  me  beautiful  ?  and  how 
beautiful  ?    Compare  me  to  some  one  we  know." 

"  I  can  only  compare  you  to  yourself,  Ang^lique.  You 
are  more  beautiful  than  any  one  I  know,"  Amelie  burst 
out  in  frank  enthusiasm. 

"  But,  really  and  truly,  do  you  think  me  beautiful,  not 

only  in  your  eyes,  but  in  the  judgment  of  the  world  ? "       f? 

Angdlique  brushed  back  her  glorious  hair  and  stared 

fixedly  in  the  face  of  her  friend,  as  if  seeking  confirmation 

of  something  in  her  own  thoughts. 

"  What  a  strange  question,  Angdlique.  Why  do  yuu 
ask  me  in  that  way  "i " 

"Because"  replied  she  with  bitterness,  "I  begin  to 
doubt  it.  I  have  been  praised  for  my  good  looks  until  1  grow 
weary  of  the  iteration  ;  but  I  believed  the  lying  flattery 
once,  as  what  woman  would  not,  when  it  is  repeated  ever) 
4ay  of  her  life  ? "  _ 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW Fl^  ANCE. 


n 


Am^ie  looked  sufficiently  puzzled.  "  What  has  come 
over  you,  Angdiique  ?  Why  should  you  doubt  your  own 
charms  ?  or  really,  have  you  found  at  last  a  case  in  which 
they  fail  you  ?  " 

Very  unlikely,  a  man  would  say,  at  fiist,  second  or 
third  sight  of  Ang^Iique  des  Meloises.  She  was  indeed  4 
fair  girl  to  look  upon  ;  tall,  and  fashioned  in  nature's  most 
voluptuous  mould,  perfect  in  the  symmetry  of  every  part, 
.  with  an  ease  and  beauty  of  movement  not  suggestive  of 
spiritual  graces,  like  Am^lie's,  but  of  terrestrial  witcheries 
like  those  great  women  of  old  who  drew  down  the  very 
gods  from  Olympus,  and  who  in  all  ages  have  incited  nen 
to  the  noblest  deeds,  or  tempted  them  to  the  greatest  crimes. 

She  was  beautiful  of  that  rare  type  of  beauty  which  is 
only  reproduced  once  or  twice  in  a  century  to  realize 
the  dreams  of  a  Titian  or  a  Giorgione.  Her  com- 
plexion was  clear  and  radiant,  as  of  a  descendant  of  the 
Sun  God.  Her  bright  hair,  if  its  golden  ripples  were 
shaken  out,  would  reach  to  her  knees.  Her  face  wa? 
worthy  of  immortality  by  the  pencil  of  a  Titian.  Her 
dark  eyes  drew  with  a  magnetism  which  attracted  men  in 
spite  of  themselves,  whithersoever  she  would  lead  them. 
They  were  never  so  dangerous  as  when  in  apparent  repose, 
they  sheathed  their  fascination  for  a  moment,  and  sudden- 
ly shot  a  backward  glance,  like  a  Parthian  arrow,  from  un- 
der their  long  eyelashes,  that  left  a  wound  to  be  sighed 
over  for  many  a  day. 

The  spoiled  and  petted  child  of  the  brave,  careless 
Renaud  d'Avesne  des  Meloises,  of  an  ancient  family  in  the 
Nivernois,  Angdlique  grew  up  a  motherless  girl,  clever 
above  most  of  her  companions,  conscious  of  superior 
charms,  always  admired  and  flattered,  and,  since  she  left 
the  Convent,  worshipped  as  the  idol  of  the  gay  gallants  of 
the  city,  and  the  despair  and  envy  of  her  own  sex.  She 
was  a  born  sovereign  of  men,  and  she  felt  it.  It  was  her 
divine  right  to  be  preferred.  She  trod  the  earth  with  dainty 
feet,  and  a  step  aspiring  as  that  of  the  fair  Louise  de  La 
Valifere  when  she  danced  in  the  Royal  ballet  in  the  forest 
of  Fontainebleau  and  stole  a  king's  heart  by  the  flashes  of 
her  pretty  feet.  Angelique  had  been  indulged  by  her 
father  in  every  caprice,  and  in  the  gay  world  inhaled  the 
incense  of  adulation  until  she  regarded  it  as  her  right,  and 
resented  passionately  when  it  was  withheld    0  jr;.  »i. 


*?■ 


•4  THE  CfflEN  Eton. 

She  was  not  by  nature  bad,  although  vain,  selfish  and 
aspiring.  Her  footstool  was  the  hearts  of  men,  and  upon 
it  she  set  hard  her  beautiful  feet,  indifferent  to  the  anguish 
caused  by  her  capricious  tyranny.  She  was  cold  and  calcu- 
lating under  the  warm  passions  of  a  voluptuous  nature. 
Although  many  might  believe  they  had  won  the  favor,  none 
felt  sure  they  had  gained  the  love  of  this  fair  capricious 
pri. 


j»^ 


p.': 


-'%^i^ 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CONFIDENCES. 


ANGELiQUE  took  the  arm  of  Am^lie  in  her  old,  familiar 
school  girl  way,  and  led  her  to  the  sunny  corner  of  a  bas- 
tion where  lay  a  dismounted  cannon.  The  green  slope  of 
the  long  hill  side  of  Charlebourg  was  visible  through  an 
embrasure,  like  a  landscape  framed  in  massive  stone. 

The  girls  sat  down  upon  the  old  gun.  Angdlique  held 
Amelie  by  both  hands,  as  if  hesitating  how  to  express 
something  she  wished  to  say.  Still,  when  Angdlique  did 
speak,  it  was  plain  to  Amelie  that  she  had  other  things  on 
her  mind  than  what  her  tongue  gave  loose  to.  -th 

"  Now  we  are  quite  alone,  Amelie,"  said  she,  "  we  can 
talk  as  we  used  to  do  in  our  school  days.  You  have  not 
been  in  the  city  during  the  whole  summer,  and  have  mis- 
sed all  its  gaieties  ? " 

"  I  was  well  content !  how  beautiful  the  country  looks 
from  here,"  replied  Amelie,  glancing  out  of  the  embrasure 
at  the  green  fields  and  gorgeous  summer  woods  that  lay 
across  the  valley  of  the  St.  Charles.  "  How  much  pleas- 
anter  to  be  in  it,  revelling  among  the  flowers  and  under 
the  trees  I  I  like  to  touch  the  country  as  well  as  to  look 
at  it  from  a  distance,  as  you  do  in  Quebec." 

"  Well,  I  never  care  for  the  country  if  I  can  only  get 
enough  of  the  city.  Quebec  was  never  so  gay  as  it  has 
been  this  year.  The  royal  Roussillon  and  the  freshly  ar- 
rived regiments  of  Beam  and  Ponthieu,  have  turned  the 
heads  of  all  Quebec, — of  the  girls,  that  is.  Gallants  have 
been  plenty  as  bilberries  in  August.   And  you  may  be  sure  I 


CONFIDENCES. 


H 


got  my  share,  Amclie  "  Ang^Hque  laughed  aloud  at  some 
secret  reminiscences  of  her  summer  campaign. 

"  It  is  well  I  did  not  come  to  the  city,  Angdllque,  to 
get  my  head  turned  like  the  rest !  but  now  that  I  am  here, 
suppose  I  should  mercifully  try  to  heal  some  of  the  hearts 
yoM  have  broken  !  "     tj»«f 

"  I  hope  you  wont  try.  Those  bright  eyes  of  youn 
would  heal  too  effectually  the  wounds  made  by  mine,  and 
that  is  not  what  1  desire,"  replied  Ang^lique,  laughing. 

"  No !  then  your  heart  is  more  cruel  than  your  eyes. 
But,  tell  me,  who  have  been  your  victims  this  year,  Ang^ 
lique.?" 

"  Well,  to  be  frank,  Amblie,  I  have  tried  my  fascinations 
upon  the  king's  officers  very  impartially,  and  with  fair  suc- 
cess. There  have  been  three  duels,  two  deaths,  and  one 
Captain  of  the  royal  Roussillon  turned  cordelier  for  my 
sake.     Is  that  not  a  fair  return  for  my  labor  ? " 

"  You  are  shocking  as  ever,  Ang(^lique !  I  do  not  be- 
lieve you  feel  proud  of  such  triumphs,"  exclaimed  Amclie. 

"  Proud,  no !  I  am  not  proud  of  conquering  men. 
That  is  easy  I  My  triumphs  are  over  the  women !  and  the 
way  to  triumph  over  them  is  to  subdue  the  men.  You 
know  my  old  rival  at  school,  the  haughty  Frangoise  de 
Lantagnac  ;  I  owed  her  a  grudge,  and  she  has  put  on  the 
black  veil  for  life,  instead  of  the  white  one  and  orange 
blossoms  for  a  day  !  I  only  meant  to  frighten  her,  how- 
ever, when  I  stole  her  lover,  but  she  took  it  to  heart  and 
went  into  the  Convent.  It  was  dangerous  for  her  to  chal- 
lenge Angdlique  des  Meloises  to  test  the  fidelity  of  her  af- 
fianced, Julien  de  St.  Croix."  '  '        .     f 

Amclie  rose  up  in  honest  indignation.  Her  cheek 
burning  like  a  coal  of  fire.  "  I  know  your  wild  talk  of  old, 
Ang^lique,  but  I  will  not  believe  you  are  so  wicked  as  to 
make  deadly  sport  of  our  holiest  affections." 

"  Ah,  if  you  knew  men  as  I  do,  Amdlie,  you  would 
think  it  no  sin  to  punish  them  fdl-  their  perjuries  ;  but  you 
are  a  nun  in  experience,  and  never  woke  out  of  a  girl's 
dream  of  love,  as  I  have  done."  Angdlique  seemed  to 
make  this  remark  in  a  hard  monotone  as  much  to  herself 
as  to  her  companion. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  men,"  replied  Amdlie,  "  but  I 
think  a  good  noble  man  is  after  God  the  worthiest  object 
of  a  woman's  devotion.     We  were  better  dead  than  finding 


t6 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


amusement  in  the  pain  of  those  who  love  us  ;  pray  what 
became  of  Jul.en  de  St.  Croix  after  you  broke  up  his  in- 
tended marriage  with  poor  Franoi9se." 

"01  him  I  threw  to  the  fishes!  what  did  I  care  for 
him  ?  It  was  mainly  to  punish  Frangoise*  presumption  that 
I  showed  my  power  and  made  him  fight  that  desperate 
duel  with  Captain  LeFranc." 

"  O,  Angdlique,  how  could  you  be  so  unutterably  wicked?" 

"  Wicked  ?  It  was  not  my  fault,  you  know,  that  he  was 
■cilled.  He  was  my  champion  and  ought  to  have  come 
iff  victor.  I  wore  a  black  ribbon  for  him  a  full  half  year, 
and  had  the  credit  of  being  devoted  to  his  memory  ;  I  had 
•Tiy  triumph  in  that  if  in  nothing  else." 

"  Your  triumph  !  for  shame,  AngtJlique.  I  will  not 
'isten  to  you  ;  you  profane  the  very  name  of  love  by  utter- 
ing such  sentiments.  The  gift  of  so  much  beauty  was  for 
blessing,  not  for  pain.  St.  Mary  pray  for  you,  Angdlique, 
you  need  her  prayers  !  "     Am^lie  rose  up  suddenly. 

"  Nay,  do  not  get  angry  and  go  off  that  way,  Am^lie,** 
ejaculated  Angdlique.  "  I  will  do  penance  for  my  tri- 
umphs by  relating  my  defeats,  and  my  special  failure  of 
all,  which  I  know  you  will  rejoice  to  hear." 

"  I,  Angdlique !  What  have  your  triumphs  or  failures 
ro  do  with  me }  No,  I  care  not  to  hear."  Ang^lique  held 
.*ier  half  forcibly  by  the  scarf. 

"  But  you  will  care  when  I  tell  you  that  I  met  an  old 
and  valued  friend  of  yours  last  night  at  the  Castle.  The 
new  Aide-de-Camp  of  the  Governor,  Colonel  Philibert.  I 
think  I  have  heard  you  speak  of  Pierre  Philibert  in  the 
Convent,  Am^lie  ? " 

Amdlie  felt  the  net  thrown  over  her  by  the  skilful  Re- 
tiaria.  She  stood  stock  still  in  mute  surprise,  with  averted 
eye  and  deeply  blushing  cheek,  fighting  desperately  with 
the  confusion  she  feared  to  let  Angdlique  detect.  But  that 
keen  sighted  girl  saw  too  clearly— she  had  caught  her  fast 
as  a  bird  is  caught  b7  the  fcwler.  i;  r  n  >:ifHu 

*  Yes,  I  met  with  a  double  defeat  last  night,"  continued 
\ng^lique. 

"  Indeed  1  pray  from  whom  ? "  Am^lie's  curiosity  though 
not  usually  a  troublesome  quality,  was  by  this  time  fairly 
roused.  ;    r   ^'^  ^*  ' 

Angdlique  saw  her  drift,  and  played  with  her  anxiety 
(or  a  few  moments.     ,  •:  :  <   ^  -^  ;  .    .:v;?       n    •  iwimy^^  i\  m. 


CONFIDENCES, 


fi 


"  Mj  first  rebuff  was  from  that  gentlemanly  philosopher 
from  Sweden,  a  great  friend  of  the  Governor,  you  know. 
But  alas,  I  might  as  weP  we  tried  to  fascinate  an  iceberg  I 
His  talk  was  all  of  the  i^owers  of  the  field.  He  has  not 
gallantry  to  give  you  a  rose  before  he  has  dissected  it  to 
the  very  calyx.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  knew  after 
half  an  hour's  conversation  with  me,  whether  I  was  man  or 
woman.     That  was  defeat  number  one." 

"  And  what  was  number  two  ?  "  Amdlie  was  now  thor- 
oughly interested  in  Angdlique's  gossip. 

**  I  left  the  dry  unappreciative  philosopher  and  devoted 
myself  to  charm  the  handsome  Colonel  Philibert.  He 
was  all  wit  and  courtesy.  But  my  failure  was  even  more 
signal  with  him  than  with  the  cold  Swede." 

Am^lie's  eyes  gave  a  sparkle  of  joy,  which  did  not  es- 
cape Ang^lique,  but  she  pretended  not  to  see  it.  **  How 
was  that  ?  Tell  me,  pray,  how  you  failed  with  Colonel  Phil- 
ibert ? " 

"  My  cause  of  failure  would  not  be  a  lesson  for  you, 
Am^lie.     Listen  ;  I  got  a  speedy  introduction  to  Colonel 
Philibert,  who  I  confess  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I 
ever  saw.     I  was  bent  on  attracting  him," 

"  For  shame,  Ang^lique  !  How  could  you  confess  tu 
ought  9D  unwomanly  ? "  There  was  a  warmth  in  Am^lie'a 
tone  that  was  less  noticed  by  herself  than  by  her  compan- 

.  H'  "  Well,  it  is  my  way  of  conquering  the  King's  army.  I 
shot  my  whole  quiver  of  arrows  at  Colonel  Philibert,  but 
to  my  chagrin  hit  not  a  vital  part !  He  parried  eveiy  one 
and  returned  them  broken  at  my  feet.  His  persistent 
questioning  about  yourself,  as  soon  as  he  discovered  we  had 
been  school  companions  in  the  Convent,  quite  foiled  me. 
He  was  full  of  interest  about  you,  and  all  that  concerned 
you,  but  cared  not  a  fig  about  me !  "     • 

"  What  could  Colonel  Philibert  have  to  ask  you  about 
me  ?  "  Amdlie  unconsciously  drew  closer  to  her  compan- 
ion and  even  clasped  her  arm  by  an  involuntary  movement 
«hich  did  not  escape  her  friend. 

"  Why  he  asked  everything  a  gentleman  could  with 
proper  respect  ask  about  a  lady."        '^-'     ^^  "> 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ? " 

"  O,  not  half  enough  to  content  him.  I  confess  I  fell 
piqued  that  he  only  looked  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  Pythoness 


m 


THE  CHIEN  JTOR. 


l!- 


I  ii 

■  ■fit!.' 


to  solve  enigmas  about  you.  I  had  a  grun  satisfaction  in 
leaving  his  curiosity  irritated,  but  not  satisfied.  I  praisec 
your  beauty,  goodness  and  cleverness  up  to  the  skies,  how- 
ever. I  was  not  untrue  to  old  friendship,  Aip^lie  !  "  An- 
g^liqje  kissed  her  friend  on  the  cheek,  who  silenily  allow- 
ed what  in  her  indignation  a  few  moments  ago  she  would 
have  refused. 

"  But  what  said  Colonel  Philibcrt  of  himself.^  Never 
mind  about  me." 

"  O,  impatient  that  you  are  1  He  said  nothing  of  him- 
self. He  was  absorbed  in  my  stories  concerning  you.  I 
told  him  as  pretty  a  fable  as  La  Fontaine  related  of  the 
Avare  qui  avait perdu  son  tresor  /  I  said  you  were  a  beau- 
tiful Chatelaine  besieged  by  an  army  of  lovers,  but  the 
knight  errant  Fortunatus  had  alone  won  your  favor,  and 
would  receive  your  hand  !  The  brave  Colonel  1  I  could 
see  he  winced  at  this.  His  s'eel  cuirass  was  not  invulner- 
able. I  drew  blood,  which  is  more  than  you  would  have 
dared  to  do  Amdlie  !  But  I  discovered  the  truth  hidden 
in  his  heart.  He  is  in  love  with  you,  Am^lie  De  Repent? 
igny  1 "  '  " 

"  Mad  girl !  How  could  you  ?  How  dare  you  speak  so 
of  me?    What  must  Colonel  Philibert  think ? "       ■.::.•]   ' 

"  Think  ?  He  •  binks  you  must  be  the  most  perfect  oi 
your  sex  !  Why,  his  mind  was  made  up  about  you,  Amd- 
lie  before  he  said  a  word  to  me.  Indeed,  he  only  just 
wanted  to  enjoy  the  supernal  pleasure  of  hearing  me  sing 
the  praises  oi:  Amdlie  De  Repentigny  to  the  tune  com- 
posed by  himself."  f,  -Kt^'-v^ 

"  Which  you  seem  to  have  done,  Angdlique  1 " 

"  As  musically  as  Aunt  Mdre  St.  Borgia,  when  singing 
vespers  in  the  Ursulines,"  was  Ang^lique's  flippant  reply. 

Amt^lie  knew  how  useless  it  was  to  expostulate.  She 
swallowed  her  mingled  pleasure  and  vexation  Sc^lt  with  tears 
she  could  not  help.  She  changed  the  subject  by  a  vio- 
lent wrench,  and  asked  Angdlique  when  she  had  last  seen 
Le  Gardeur. 

"  At  the  Indendant's  Levee  the  other  day.    How  lik^ 
you  he  is  too,  only  less  amiable  I  " 

Angdlique  did  not  respond  readily  to  her  friend's  ques- 
tion ^bout  her  brother. 

"  Less  amiable  ?  that  is  not  like  my  brother.  Why  dn 
fou  think  him  less  amiable  than  me?"    ,;;>:  >:vi  ^a.s':;  t-^f  piq 


IM: 


Co 


'/     ftS. 


»^ 


••Because  he  got  ai.^ry  witi  ne  at  he  bftlt  ghrtn  'n 
honor  of  the  arrival  of  the  Intendant,  i  hav   ^«>t  be^n 

able  yet  to  restore  him  to  perfect  gn<      humoi    with  me 
since." 

"  O,  then  Le  Gardeur  completes  the  trio  of  those  who 
are  proof  against  your  fascinations  ?  "  Ain^lie  was  secret- 
ly glad  to  hear  of  the  displeasure  of  Le  Gardeur  with  An- 
gelique." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  hope,  Am^lie.  I  don't  place  Le  Gardeur 
in  the  same  category  with  my  other  admirers.  But  he 
got  offended  because  I  seemed  to  neglect  him  a  little  to 
cultivate  this  gay  new  Intendant.     Do  you  know  him?" 

"  No !  nor  wish  to  !  I  have  heard  much  said  to  his 
disadvantage.  The  Chevalier  La  Come  St.  Luc  has  open- 
ly expressed  his  dislike  of  the  Intendant  for  somethipg 
that  happened  in  Acadia." 

"  O,  the  Chevalier  La  Come  is  always  so  decided  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes — one  must  either  be  very  good  or  very 
bad  to  satisfy  him,"  replied  Angdlique  with  a  scornful  pout 
of  her  lips. 

"  Don't  speak  ill  of  my  god-fatker,  Angdlique  ;  better 
be  profane  on  any  other  topic ;  you  know  my  ideal  of  manly 
virtues  is  the  Chevalier  La  Corne,"  replied  Amdlie. 

"  Well,  I  won't  pull  down  your  idol  then  !  I  respect 
the  brave  old  soldier,  too ;  but  could  m  ish  him  with  the 
army  in  Flanders  I  '* 

"  Thousands  of  estimable  people  augur  ill  from  the  ac- 
cession of  the  Intendant  Bigot  in  new  France,  besides  the 
C^hevalier  La  Corne,"  Amdlie  said  after  a  pause.  She  dis- 
liked censuring  even  the  Intendant.  :*ri<-m 

"  Yes,"  replied  Angdlique,  "  the  Honnetes  gens  do,  who 
think  themselves  bound  to  oppose  the  Intendant,  be- 
cause he  uses  the  royal  authority  in  a  regal  way,  and  makes 
every  one,  high  and  low,  do  their  devoir  to  Church  and 
State." 

"  While  he  does  his  devoir  to  none  I  But  I  am  no  pol- 
itician, Angtflique.  But  when  so  many  good  people  call 
the  Intendant  a  bad  man,  it  behoves  one  to  be  circum- 
spect in  *  cultivating  him,'  as  you  call  it."  . 

"Well  he  is  rich  enough  to  pay  for  all  the  broken 
pots !  They  say  he  amassed  untold  wealth  in  Acadia, 
Amdie  1" 

"  And  lost  the  Province  for  the  king !  "  retorted  Am^- 


■■'■'■  I 


1      i 


->*<i 


5* 


THE  CHIEN  ETOR. 


A  ,;i 


lie  with  all  the  asperity  her  gentle  but  patriotic  spirit  was 
capable  of.    "  Some  say  he  sold  the  country." 

"I  don't  care  I"  replied  the  reckless  beauty  ;"  he  ii 
like  Joseph  in  Egypt,  next  to  Pharoah  in  authority.  He  can 
shoe  his  horses  with  gold  1  I  wish  he  would  shoe  me  with 
golden  slippers — I  would  wear  them,  Amtilie  !  " 

Angdlique  stamped  .ler  dainty  foot  upon  the  ground,  as 
if  in  fancy  she  already  had  them  on. 

"  It  is  shocking  if  you  mean  it  I  "  remarked  Am^lie 
pityingly,  for  she  felt  Angdiique  was  speaking  her  genuine 
thoughts.  "  But  is  it  true  that  the  Intenclant  is  really 
as  dissolute  as  rumor  says  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  be  true,  he  is  noble  gallant,  polite, 
rich,  and  all-powerful  at  Court.  He  is  reported  to  be  prime 
fauiprite  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour.  What  more  do  I 
wSt?"  replied  Ang^lique  warmly.  Wh  .' 

Am6'He  knew  enough  by  report  of  the  French  Count  to 
cause  her  to  shrink  instinctively  as  from  a  repulsive  insect, 
at  the  name  of  the  mistress  cff  Louis  XV.  She  trembled 
\t  the  thought  of  Angdlique's  infatuation,  or  perversity  in 
"Uiffering  herself  to  be  attracted  by  the  glitter  of  the  vices 
if  the  royal  Intendant.       v    ?  r:  n«   iUit^Ajvr  11 

"  Angdlique  I  "  exclaimed  she,  "  I  have  heard  things  of 
Ae  Intendant,  that  would  make  me  tremble  for  you,  were 
you  in  earnest.'* 

"  But  I  am  in  earnest  I  I  mean  to  win  and  wear  the  In- 
tendant of  New  France,  to  show  my  superiority  over  the 
whole  bevy  of  beauties  competing  for  his  hand.  There 
is  not  a  girl  in  Quebec  but  would  run  away  with  him  to* 
morrow." 

"  Fie,  Angdlique  !  such  a  libel  upon  our  sex  1  You  know 
better.     But  you  cannot  love  him  ? " 

"  Love  him  ?  No  I  "  Angelique  repeated  the  denial 
scornfully.  "  Love  him  I  I  never  thought  of  love  and  him 
together !  He  is  not  handsome,  like  your  brother,  Le 
Gardeur,  who  is  my  beau  ideal  of  a  man  I  could  love  ; 
nor  has  he  the  intellect  and  nobility  of  Colonel  Philibert,  who 
is  my  model  of  a  heroic  man.  I  could  love  such  men  as 
them.  But  my  ambition  would  not  be  content  with  less 
than  a  (Governor  or  Royal  Intendant  in  New  France.  In 
old  France,  I  would  not  put  up  with  less  than  the  king 
himself  I"  .  '  ^    :    •- 

Angelique  laughed  at  her  own  extravagance,  but  she 


CONF/DF.A/CBS, 


St 


she 


believed  in  it  all  the  same.  Am^Iie,  though  shocked  at  hei 
wildnesH,  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  folly. 

"  Have  you  done  raving  ? "  said  she  ;  "  I  have  no  rig^t 
to  question  your  selection  of  a  lover  or  doubt  your  power, 
Ang^lique.  But  are  you  sure  there  exists  no  insurmount* 
able  obstacle  to  oppose  these  high  aspirations  ?  It  is  whis^ 
pered  that  the  Intendant  has  a  wife,  whom  he  keeps  in  the 
seclusion  of  Beaumanoir.     Is  that  true  ?  " 

The  words  burnt  like  fire.  Angt^lique's  eyes  flashed 
out  daggers.  She  clenched  her  delicate  hands  until  her 
nails  drew  blood  from  her  velvet  palms.  Her  frame  quiv- 
ered with  suppressed  passion.  She  grasped  her  companion 
fiercely  by  the  arm,  exclaiming  :  "  You  have  hit  the  secict 
now,  Am^lie !  It  was  to  speak  of  that  I  sought  yo"  out 
this  morning,   for   I  know    you  are    wise,   disc  i 

every  way  better  than  I.  It  is  all  true  what  I  nave  said 
and  more  too,  Amt^lie.  Listen  I  The  Intendant  has  made 
love  to  me  with  pointed  gallantry  that  could  have  no  other 
meaning  but  that  he  honorably  sought  my  hand.  He  has 
made  me  talked  of,  and  hated  by  my  own  sex,  who  envied  his 
preference  of  me.  I  was  living  in  the  most  gorgeous  of  fool's 
paradises,  when  a  bird  brought  to  my  ear  the  astounding 
news,  that  a  woman,  beautiful  as  Diana,  had  been  found  in 
the  forest  of  Beaumanoir,  by  some  Hurons  of  Lorette,  who 
were  out  hunting  with  the  Intendant.  She  was  accom* 
panied  by  a  few  Indians  of  a  strange  tribe,  the  Aben- 
aquais  of  Acadia.  The  woman  was  utterly  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  and  lay  asleep  on  a  couch  of  dry  leaves  under  a 
tree,  when  the  astonished  Hurons  led  the  Intendant  to  the 
spot  where  she  lay. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  Amdlie,  I  see  you  are  amazed, 
but  let  me  go  on  ?  "  She  held  the  hands  of  her  companion 
firmly  in  her  lap  as  she  proceeded  : — 

"  The  Intendant  was  startled  out  of  all  composure  at 
the  apparition  of  the  sleeping  lady.  He  spoke  eagerly  to 
the  Abenaquais  in  their  own  tongue  which  was  unintelligi- 
ble to  the  Hurons.  When  he  had  listened  to  a  few  words 
of  their  explanation,  he  ran  hastily  to  the  lady,  kissed 
her,  called  her  by  name,  *  Caroline  I'  She  wpke  up  sudden- 
ly, and,  recognizing  the  Intendant,  embraced  him,  crying 
*  Fran5ois !    Francois  ! '  and  fainted  in  his  arms. 

"  The  Chevalier  was  profoundly  agitated,  blessing  and 
banning  in  the  same  breath,  the  fortune  that  had  led  her 


3a 


THE  CHJEN  IVOR. 


I  %\ 


A 


i 


III  !„ 


!  \ 


to  him.  He  gave  her  wine,  restored  her  to  consciousnesa, 
talked  with  her  long  and  sometimes  angrily ;  but  to  no 
avail,  for  the  woman  in  accents  of  despair,  exclaimed  ir 
French,  which  the  Hurons  understood,  that  the  Intendant 
might  kill  and  bury  her  there,  but  she  would  never,  never 
return  home  any  more." 

Ang^lique  scarcely  took  breat'i  as  she  continued  her 
eager  recital. 

"  The  Intendant,  overpowered,  either  by  love  of  her  or 
fear  of  her,  ceased  his  remonstrances.  He  gave  some  pieces 
of  gold  to  the  Abenaquais,  and  dismissed  them.  The 
strange  Indians  kissed  her  on  both  hands  as  they  would  a 
queen,  and  with  many  adieus  vanished  into  the  forest. 
The  lady,  attended  by  Bigot,  remained  seated  under  the 
tree  till  nightfall  when  he  conducted  her  secretly  to  the 
Ch&teau,  where  she  still  remains  in  perfect  seclusion  in  a 
secret  chamber  they  say,  and  has  been  seen  by  none  save 
one  or  two  of  the  Intendant's  most  intimate  companions." 

"  Heavens !  what  a  tale  of  romance  !  How  learned 
you  all  this  Angdlique  ? "  exclaimed  Am^lie,  who  had 
listened  with  breathless  attention  to  the  narrative. 

*'  Oh,  partly  from  a  hint  from  a  Huron  girl,  and  the  rest 
from  the  Intendant's  Secretary.  Men  cannot  keep  secrets 
that  women  are  interested  in  knowing  I  I  could  make  De 
Pean  talk  the  Intendant's  head  off  his  shoulders,  if  I  had 
him  an  hour  in  my  confessional.  But  all  my  ingenuity  could 
not  extract  from  him  what  he  did  not  know.  Who  that 
mysterious  lady  is,  her  name,  and  family  ?  "       ;.  •.•   •-:      * ; 

"Could  the  Huron  hunters  give  no  guess?"  asked 
Am^lie  thoroughly  interested  in  Angdlique's  story. 

"  No.  They  learned  by  signs,  however,  from  the  Aben- 
aquais, that  she  wa3  a  lady  of  noble  family  in  Acadia, 
which  had  mingled  its  patrician  blood  with  that  of  the  na- 
tive chiefs  and  possessors  of  the  soil.-  The  Abenaquais 
were  chary  of  their  information,  however,  they  would  only 
say  she  was  a  great  white  lady  and  as  good  as  any  saint  in 
the  calendar." 

"  I  would  give  five  years  of  my  .life  to  know  who  and 
what  that  woman  is !  "  Angdlique  added,  as  she  leaned  over 
the  parapet  gazing  intently  at  the  great  forest  that  lay 
beyond  Charleboiirg,  in  which  was  concealed  the  Ch&teau 
<rf  Beaumanoir."       -i,  ■vfnnj-.V  iVr  '  -n  ■'■^t^,.■l■.^^^   >i,t  I'  '•    "■ 

"  It  is  a  strange  mystery.    Bat  I  would  not  seek  to  un- 


CONFIDENCES. 


33 


ravel  it,  Angdlique,"  remarked  Am^lie,  "  I  feel  llieie  is  sin 
in  it.  Do  not  touch  it !  It  will  only  bring  mischief  upon 
you  if  you  do  i"        j-     rr    •-        ;..;'.      ?  r,  y     msvf^. 

"Mischief!  So  be  it!  But  I  will  know  the  worst! 
The  Intendant  is  deceiving  me !  Woe  be  to  him  and  her 
if  I  am  to  be  their  intended  victim  !  Will  you  not  assist 
me,  Amdlie,  to  discover  the  truth  of  this  secret  ?" 

"  I  ?  how  can  I  ?  I  pity  you  Angdlique,  but  it  were 
better  to  leave  this  Intendant  to  his  own  devices."  rra^y 
.  "  You  can  very  easily  help  me  if  you  will.  Le  Gardeur 
must  know  this  secret.  He  must  have  seen  the  woman — but 
he  is  angry  with  me,  for — for — slighting  him — as  he  thinks 
— but  he  was  wrong.  I  could  not  avow  to  him  my  jealousy 
in  this  matter.  He  told  me  just  enough  to  madden  me, 
and  angrily  refused  to  tell  the  rest  when  he  saw  me  so  in- 
fatuated— he  called  it,  over  other  people's  love  affairs.  Oh, 
Amdlie,  Le  Gardeur  will  tell  you  all  if  you  ask  him  I  " 

"And  I  repeat  it  to  you,  Angdlique,  I  cannot  question 
Le  Gardeur  on  such  a  hateful  topic.  At  any  rate  I  need 
time  to  reflect  and  will  pray  to  be  guided  right.  " 

"  Oh,  pray  not  at  all  I  If  you  pray  you  •  will  never  aid 
aie  !  I  know  you  will  say  the  end  is  wicked  and  the  means 
dishonorable.  But  find  out  I  will — and  speedily !  It  will 
only  be  the  price  of  another  dance  with  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean,  to  discover  all  I  want.  What  fools  men  are  when  they 
believe  we  love  them  for  their  sakes,  and  not  for  our  own  1 " 

Amdlie  pitying  the  wild  humors,  as  she  regarded  them, 
of  her  old  school  companion — took  her  arm  to  walk  to  and 
fro  in  the  bastion — but  was  not  sorry  to  see  her  Aunt  and 
the  Bishop  and  Father  De  Berey  approaching. 

"  Quick,"  said  she  to  Angel  ique,  "  smooth  your  hair  and 
compose  your  looks.  Here  come  my  Aunt  and  the  Bishop 
— Father  De  Berey  too  !  Sad  thoughts  are  ever  banished 
where  he  comes,  although  I  don't  admire  quite  so  much 
gayety  in  a  priest. "  .  ;   (.  rrr^y^ 

Ang^lique  prepared  at  once  to  meet  them  ;  and  with 
her  wonderful  power  of  adaptation  transformed  herself  in 
a  moment  into  a  merry  creature  all  light  and  gayety.  She 
saluted  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  the  reverend  Bishop  in  the 
frankest  manner — and  at  once  accepted  an  interchange  of 
wit  and  laughter  with  Father  De  Berey.  Her  voice,  so  clear 
and  silvery, would  have  put  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  at  fault  to 
discover  one  trace  of  care  on  the  mind  of  this  beautiful  girU 

3 


i 

i 

r. 


34 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR. 


H 


sffil''; 


ml 


**  She  could  not  remain  long,  however,  in  the  Church's 
company,"  she  said,  "  she  had  her  morning  calls  to  finish." 
She  kissed  the  cheek  of  Amdlie  and  the  hand  of  the  Lady 
DeTilly,  and  with  a  coquettish  courtesy  to  the  gentlemen, 
leaped  nimbly  into  her  caliche,  whirled  round  her  spirited 
horses  like  a  practiced  charioteer,  and  drove  with  rapid 
pace  down  the  crowded  street  of  St.  John,  the  observed 
of  all  observers,  the  admiration  of  the  men,  and  thf 
envy  of  the  women  as  she  flashed  by.      c:    ;  ' .  -.  -  w    .ri  v 

Amdlie  and  the  Lady  De  Tilly  having  seen  a  plenteous 
meal  distributed  among  their  people,  proceeded  to  their 
city  home — their  seigneurial  residence,  when  they  chose  to 
live  in  the  capital. 


•iiV-^     :WS- 

^.,.-Vj-    p'':,fif                                 ■  '    '          »  ;          ;/ 

^=^tA..<  ■'■'■ 

■■^'■^'■ih                                                ■-•  -^ 

"  !  fV.^  -' . 

:^      CHAPTER  V. 

"    "I?    ' ''  -T ; 

THE     ITINERANT  NOTARY. 

■- .  ■■  K 


■"1 


i»  * 


Master  Jean  LeNocher,  the  sturdy  ferryman's  pali 
ence  had  been  severely  tried  for  a  few  days  back,  passing 
the  troops  of  habitans  over  the  St.  Charles  to  the  city  o* 
Quebec.  Being  on  the  King's  corvke  they  claimed  the  privi 
lege  of  all  persons  in  the  Royal  service.  They  travelled 
toll-free,  and  paid  Jean  with  a  nod  or  a  jest  in  place  of 
the  small  coin  which  that  worthy  used  to  exact  on  ordinary 
occasions.  4f-vi\  ii*-;^">i*i;v  ..;?.  w-^— i.'. ;■:,-■?,: rrr-J  U;C;'''-'  -':■■    ■^■'^^v  '^ 

This  morning  had  begun  auspiciously  for  Jean's  tem- 
per, however.  A  king's  officer  on  a  grey  charger,  had  just 
crossed  the  ferry;  and  without  claiming  the  exemption  from 
toll  which  was  the  right  of  all  wearing  the  king's  uniform, 
the  officer  had  paid  Jean  more  than  his  fee  in  solid  coin, 
and  rode  on  his  way  after  a  few  kind  words  to  the  ferry- 
man and  a  polite  salute  to  his  wife  Babet,  who  stood  cour 
tesying  at  the  door  of  their  cottage. 

"  A  noble  gentleman  that,  and  a  real  one  ! "  exclaimed 
Jean  to  his  buxom  pretty  wife,  "and  as  generous  as  a 
f  rlnce  I  See  what  he  has  given  me."  Jean  flipped  up  a 
piece  of  silver  admiringly  and  then  threw  it  into  the  apron 
of  Babet  which  she  spread  out  to  catch  it.  '^^  ^'■'^ 

Ikbet  rubbed  the  silver  piece  caressingly  between  her 
fingers  and  upon  her  cheek.    "  It  is  easy  to  see  that  hand- 


THE  ITINERANT  NOTATtV, 


3S 


some  officer  is  from  the  Castle,"  said  Babet,  **  and  not  from 
the  Palace — and  so  nice  looking  he  is,  too,  with  such  a 
sparkle  in  his  eye  and  a  pleasant  smile  on  his  mouth.  He 
is  as  good  as  he  looks  or  I  am  no  judge  of  men." 

■"  And  you  are  an  excellent  judge  of  men,  I  know, 
Babet/'  he  replied,  "  or  you  would  never  have  taken  me  I  ** 
Jean  chuckled  richly  over  his  own  wit,  which  Babet  nodded 
lively  approval  to.  "  Yes,  I  know  a  hawk  from  a  hand- 
saw, "  replied  Babet,  "  and  a  woman  who  is  as  wise  as  that 
will  never  mistake  a  gentleman,  Jean  !  I  have  not  seen  a 
handsomer  officer  than  that  in  seven  years  !  " 

"  He  is  a  pretty  fellow  enough,  I  dare  say,  Babet,  who 
can  he  be  ?  He  rides  like  a  Field  Marshal  too,  and  that 
grey  horse  has  ginger  in  his  heels !  "  remarked  Jean,  as  the 
officer  was  riding  at  a  rapid  gallop  up  the  long  white  road 
of  Charlebourg.  "  He  is  going  to  Beaumanoir  belike  to  see 
the  Royal  Intendant,  who  has  not  returned  yet  from  his 
hunting  party." 

"  Whither  they  went  three  days  ago,  to  enjoy  them- 
selves in  the  chase  and  ^vc)k  themselves  blind  in  the 
chateau,  while  every  body  else  is  summoned  to  the  city  to 
work  upon  the  walls  !  "  replied  Babet,  scornfully.  "  I'll  be 
bound  that  officer  has  gone  to  order  the  gay  gallants  of 
the  Friponne  back  to  the  city  to  take  their  share  of  work 
with  honest  people." 

"  Ah  !  the  Friporfne  !  The  Friponne  I "  ejaculated  Jean. 
"  The  foul  fiend  fly  away  with  the  Friponne  1  My  ferry 
boat  is  laden  every  day  with  the  curses  of  the  habitans  re- 
turning from  the  Friponne,  where  they  cheat  worse  than  a 
Basque  peddler,  and  without  a  grain  of  his  politeness  I  " 

The  Friponne,  as  it  was  styled  in  popular  parlance  was 
the  immense  magazine  established  by  the  Grand  Com- 
pany of  traders  in  New  France.  It  claimed  a  monopoly 
in  the  purchase  and  sale  of  all  imports  and  exports  in  the 
colony.  Its  privileges  were  based  upon  royal  ordinances 
and  decrees  of  the  Intendant  and  its  rights  enforced  in  the 
most  arbitrary  manner— and  to  the  prejudice  of  every  othei 
mercantile  interest  in  the  colony.  As  a  natural  conse- 
quence it  was  cordially  hated,  and  richly  deserved  the 
maledictions  w'lich  generally  accompanied  the  mention  of 
the  Friponne — the  swindle — a  rough  and  ready  epithet 
which  sufficiently  indicated  the  feeling  of  the  people  whom 
it  at  once  cheated  and  oppressed. 


.  ■  - 


r>    * 


'W-l 


*-<; 


36 


THE  CHIEN  D'VR. 


:i^': 


rtio  **  They  say,  Jean," — continued  Babet,  her  mind  running 
in  a  very  practical  and  wtfmanly  way  upon  the  price  oi 
commodities,  and  good  bargains — "  they  say,  Jean,  that  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert  will  not  give  in  like  the  other  mer- 
chants. He  sets  the  Intendant  at  defiance  and  continues 
to  buy  and  sell  in  his  own  comptoir  as  he  has  always  done 
In  spite  of  the  Friponne."       ,;t.v  >  ■  v>  ^  '^^  ir  ! 

"  Yes,  Babet !  that  is  what  they  say.  But  I  would 
rather  he  stood  in  his  own  shoes,  than  I  in  them  if  he  is 
to  fight  this  Intendant — who  is  a  Tartar  they  say." 

"  Pshaw,  Jean  !  you  have  less  courage  than  a  woman. 
All  the  women  are  on  the  side  of  the  good  Bourgeois  !  He 
is  an  honest  merchant — sells  cheap  and  cheats  nobody." 
Babet  looked  down  very  complacently  upon  her  new  gown, 
which  had  been  purchased  at  a  great  bargain  at  the  Maga- 
zine of  the  Bourgeois.  She  felt  rather  the  more  inclined  to 
take  this  view  of  the  question  inasmuch  as  Jean  had 
grumbled,  just  a  little — he  would  not  do  more — at  his  wife^ 
canity  in  buying  a  gay  dress  of  French  fabric,  like  a  citj- 
Dame — while  all  the  women  oi  the  parish  were  wearing 
homespun, — ^grogram,  or  linse^woolsey — whether  at  church 
or  market. 

Jean  had  not  the  heart  to  say  another  word  to  Babet 
about  the  French  gown.  In  truth  he  thought  she  looked 
very  pretty  in  it,  better  than  in  grogram  or  in  linsey-wool- 
sey, although  at  double  the  cost.  H^.only  winked  know- 
ingly at  Babet,  and  went  on  to  speaking  of  the  Bourgeois. 

"  They  say  the  king  has  long  hands,  but  this  Intendant 
has  claws  longer  than  Satan.  There  will  be  trouble  by 
and  by  at  the  Golden  Dog — mark  that,  Babet  I  It  was 
only  the  other  day  the  Intendant  was  conversing  with  the 
Sieur  Cadet  as  they  crossed  the  ferry.  They  forgot  me, 
or  thought  I  did  not  hear  them  ;  but  I  had  my  ears  open, 
as  I  always  have.  I  heard  something  said  and  I  hope  no 
hxrm  will  come  to  the  good  Bourgeois,  that  is  all !  " 

"  1  don't  know  where  Christian  folk  would  deal  if  any 
thing  happened  him,"  said  Babet  reflectively.  "  We  always 
get  civility  and  good  pennyworths  at  the  Golden  Dog. 
Some  of  the  lying  cheats  of  the  Friponne  talked  in  my 
hearing  one  day  about  his  being  a  Huguenot.  But  how  can 
that  be,  Jean  ?  When  he  gives  the  best  weight  and  the  long- 
est measure  of  any  merchant  in  Quebec  Religion  is  a  just 
yard  wand,  that  is  my  belief,  Jean!  *' 


THE  ITINERANT  NOTARY. 


^ 


44  Jean  rubbed  his  head  with  a  perplexed  air — "  I  do  not 
know  whether  he  be  a  Huguenot — nor  what  a  Huguenot  is. 
The  Cur^  one  day  said,  he  was  a  Jansenist  on  all  fours, 
which  I  suppose  is  the  same  thing  Babet — and  it  does  not 
concern  either  you  or  me.  But  a  merchant  who  is  a  gen- 
tlemati,  and  kind  to  poor  folk,  and  gives  just  measure  and 
honest  weight,  speaks  truth  and  harms  nobody,  is  christian 
enough  for  me.  A  Bishop  could  not  trade  more  honestly  j 
and  f  he  word  of  the  Bourgeois  is  as  reliable  as  a  king's." 

"  The  Cur^  may  call  the  Bourgeois  what  he  likes,"  re- 
plied Babet,  "  but  there  is  not  anociier  christian  in  the  city 
if  the  good  bourgeois  be  not  one  ;  and  next  the  church 
there  is  not  a  house  in  Quebec  better  known  or  better  liked 
by  all  the  habitants,  than  the  Golden  Dog ;  and  such  bar- 
gains, too,  as  one  gets  there  !  " 

"  Aye,  Babet !  a  good  bargain  settles  many  a  knotty 
point  with  a  woman." 

"  And  with  a  man  too,  if  he  is  wise  enough  to  let  his 
wife  do  his  marketing  as  you  do,  Jean  !  But  who  have  we 
here?"     Babet  set  her  arms  a  kimbo  and  gazed.      ^^"-"^'"^ . 

A  number  of  hardy  fellows  came  down  towards  the  ferry 
V)  seek  a  passage. 

"  They  are  honest  habitans  of  St.  Annes,"  replied  Jean. 

"  I  know  them,  they,  too,  are   on  the  king's  corvde,  and 

Tavel  free,  every  man  of  them  !    So  I  must  zxy  vive  Le  Roi  i 

and  pass  them  over  to  the  city.      It  is  like  a  holiday  when 

one  works  for  nothing  !  " 

Jean  stepped  nimbly  into  his  boat,  followed  by  the 
rough  country  fellows,  who  amused  themselves  by  joking 
at  Jean  Le  Nocher's  increasing  trade,  and  the  need  of 
putting  on  an  extra  boat  these  stirring  times.  Jean  put  a 
good  face  upon  it,  laughed  and  retorted  their  quips,  and, 
plying  his  oars,  stoutly  performed  his  part  in  the  king's 
corvdeby  safely  landing  them  on  the  other  shore. 

Meantime  the  officer  who  had  lately  crossed  the  ferry 
rode  rapidly  up  the  long,  straight  highway  that  led  upon  the 
side  of  the  mountain  to  a  cluster  of  white  cottages,  and  an 
old  church,  surmounted  by  a  belfry  whose  sweet  bells  were 
ringing  melodiously  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning.  --  -'?^? 
:.  The  sun  was  pouring  a  flood  of  golden  light  over  the  land- 
scape. The  still  glittering  dew  drops  hung  upon  the  trees, 
shrubs,  and  long  points  of  grass  by  the  way-side.  All  were 
dressed  with  jewels  to  greet  the  rising  king  of  day. 


\  W 


sSK 


.!»: 


ii 


m 


jg  r//£  CHIEN  D'Ok. 

The  wide,  open  fields  of  meadow,  and  corn  fields,  ripen- 
ing for  harvest,  stretched  far  away,  unbroken  by  hedge  or 
fence.  Slight  ditches  or  banks  of  turf,  covered  with  nests 
of  violets,  ferns  and  wild  flowers  of  every  hue,  separated 
contiguous  fields.  No  other  divisioB  seemed  necessary  in 
the  mutual  good  neighborhood  that  prevailed  among  the 
colonists,  whose  fashion  of  agriculture  had  been  brought, 
with  many  hardy  virtues,  from  the  old  plains  of  Normandy. 

White  walled,  red  roofed  cottages,  or  more  substantial 
farm  houses,  stood  conspicuously  in  the  green  fields  or 
peered  out  of  embowering  orchards.  Their  casements  were 
open  to  catch  the  balmy  air,  while  in  not  a  few  the  sound 
of  clattering  hoofs  on  the  hard  road  drew  fair  faces  to  the 
window  or  door,  to  look  inquisitively  after  the  officer 
wearing  the  white  plume  in  his  military  chapeau,  as  he  dash- 
ed by  on  the  gallant  grey. 

Those  who  caught  sight  of  him  saw  a  man  worth  see- 
ing— tall,  deep  chested,  and  erect.  His  Norman  features 
without  being  perfect  were  handsome  and  manly.  SteeJ 
blue  eyes,  solidly  set  under  a  broad  forehead,  looked  out 
searchingly  yet  kindly,  while  his  well  formed  chin  and  firm 
lips  gave  an  air  of  resolution  to  his  whole  look  that  accord 
ed  perfectly  with  the  brave  loyal  character  of  Colonel  Phil- 
ibert.  He  wore  the  royal  uniform.  His  auburn  hair  he 
wore  tied  with  a  black  ribbon.  His  good  taste  discarded 
perukes  and  powder  although  very  much  in  fashion  in 
those  days. 

It  was  long  since  he  had  travelled  on  the  highway  of 
Charlebourg,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the 
road  he  traversed.  But  behind  him,  as  he  knew,  lay  a  mag- 
nificent spectacle,  the  sight  of  the  great  promontory  of 
Quebec,  crowned  with  its  glorious  fortifications  and  replete 
with  the  proudest  memories  o\  North  America.  More  than 
once  the  young  soldier  turned  his  steed  and  halted  a  mo- 
ment or  two  to  survey  the  scene  with  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion. It  was  his  native  city,  and  the  thought  that  it  was 
threatened  by  the  national  enemy  roused  like  an  insult 
offered  to  the  mother  that  bore  him.  He  rode  onv/ard 
more  than  ev  er  impatient  of  delay,  and  not  till  he  passed 
a  cluster  of  elm  trees  which  eminded  him  of  an  adventure 
of  his  youth,  did  the  sudden  heat  pass  away,  caused  by  the 
thought  of  the  threatened  invasion. 

Under  these  trees  he  remembered  that  he,  and  his 


THE  ITINERANT  NOTARY. 


39 


school  companion  Le  Gardeur  de  Repenligny  had  once 
taken  refuge  during  a  violent  storm.  The  tree  they  stood 
under  was  shattered  Jjy  a  thunderbolt.  They  were  both 
stunned  for  a  few  mimites,  and  knew  they  had  had  a  nar- 
row escape  from  death.     Ne'lher  of  them  ever  forgot  it. 

A  train  of  thoughts,  never  long  absent  from  the  mind  ol 
Philibert,  started  up  vividly  at  the  sight  of  these  trees. 
His  memory  flew  back  to  Le  Gardeur  and  the  Manor  house 
of  Tilly,  and  the  fair  young  girl  who  captivated  his  boyish 
fancy,  and  filled  his  youth  with  dreams  of  glorious  achieve* 
ments,  to  win  her  smiles  and  do  her  honor.  Among  a 
thousand  pictures  of  her  hung  up  in  his  mind  and  secret- 
ly worshipped,  he  loved  that  which  presented  her  likeness 
on  that  day  when  he  saved  her  brother's  life,  and  she  kis» 
ed  him  in  a  passion  of  joy  and  gratitude,  vowing  she  woula 
pray  for  him  to  the  end  of  her  life. 

The  imagination  of  Pierre  Philibert  had  revelled  in  the 
romantic  visions  that  haunt  every  boy  destined  to  promin- 
ence. Visions  kindled  by  the  eye  of  woman  and  the  hope 
of  love.  .  ' 

The  world  is  ruled  by  such  dreams,  dreams  of  impas- 
sioned hearts,  and  improvisations  of  warm  lips,  not  by  cold 
words  linked  in  chains  of  iron  sequ«nce,  by  love,  not  by 
logic.  The  heart  with  its  passions,  not  the  understanding 
with  its  reasoning,  sway,  in  the  long  run,  the  agtions  of 
mankind.  '■'*■■■    -    -^^  5 

Pierre  Philibert  possessed  that  rich  gift  of  nature,  a 
creative  imagination,  in  addition  to  the  solid  judgment  of  a 
man  of  sense,  schooled  by  experience  and  used  to  the 
considerations  and  responsibilities  of  weighty  affairs. 

His  love  for  Amdlie  de  Repentigny  had  grown  in  secret. 
Its  roots  reached  down  to  the  very  depths  of  his  being.  It 
mingled  consciously  or  unconsciously  with  all  his  motives 
and  plans  of  life,  and  yet  his  hopes  were  not  sanguine. 
Years  of  absence,  he  remembered,  work  forgetfulness. 
New  ties  and  associations  might  have  wiped  out  the  mem- 
ory of  him  in  the  mind  of  a  young  girl  fresh  to  society  and 
its  delights.  He  experienced  a  disappointment  in  not 
finding  her  in  the  city  upon  his  return  a  few  days  ago,  and 
the  state  of  the  colony  and  the  stress  of  military  duty  had 
so  far  prevented  his  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  the 
Manor  house  of  Tilly. 

The  old  fashioned  host  ^Iry  of  the  Cotironne  de  Frami 


•S'f 


1- 


40 


>.     THE  CUIEN  D'OR. 


tJjF;""!;" 


ill 


with  its  high  pitched  roof,  pointed  gables,  and  broad  gal- 
lery stood  directly  opposite  the  rustic  church  and  tall  belifry 
of  Charlebourg,  not  as  a  rival,  but  as  a  sort  of  adjunct  to 
the  sacred  edifice.  The  sign  of  tite  crown,  bright  with 
gilding,  swung  from  the  low,  projecting  arm  of  a  maple 
tree;  thick  with  shade  and  rustling  with  the  beautiful  leaves 
of  the  emblem  of  Canada.  A  few  rustic  seats  under  the 
cool  maple  were  usually  occupied,  toward  the  close  of  the 
day,  or  about  the  ringing  of  the  Angelus,  by  a  little  gather- 
ing of  parishioners  from  the  village,  talking  over  the  news 
of  the  day,  the  progress  of  the  war,  the  ordinances  of  the 
Intendant,  or  the  exactions  of  the  Friponne. 

On  Sundays,  after  Mass  and  Vespers,  the  habitans  of 
all  parts  of  the  extended  parish  naturally  met  and  talked 
over  the  affairs  of  the  Fabrique.  The  value  of  tithes  for 
the  year,  the  abundance  of  Easter  eggs,  and  the  weight  of 
the  first  salmon  of  the  season,  which  was  always  presented 
to  the  Curd  with  the  hrst  fruits  of  the  field,  to  ensure  the 
blessing  of  plenty  for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

The  Reverend  Curd  frequently  mingled  in  these  dis- 
cussions. Seated  in  his  accustomed  arm  chair,  under  the 
shade  of  the  maple  in  summer,  and  in  winter  by  the  warm 
fireside,  he  defended,  ex  cathedra^  the  rights  of  the  church, 
and  good-humoredly  decided  all  controversies.  He  found 
his  parishioners  more  amenable  to  good  advice  over  a  mug 
of  Norman  cider  and  a  pipe  of  native  tobacco,  under  the 
sign  of  the  crown  of  France,  than  when  he  lectured  them 
in  his  best  and  most  learned  style  from  the  pulpit. 

This  morning,  however,  all  was  very  quiet  round  the 
old  Inn.  The  birds  were  singing  and  the  bees  humming 
in  the  pleasant  sunshine.  The  house  looked  clean  and 
tidy,  and  no  one  was  to  be  seen  except  three  persons  bend- 
ing over  a  table,  with  their  heads  close  together  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  whatever  business  they  were  engaged  in.  Two 
of  these  persons  were  Dame  Be'dard,  the  sharp  landlady 
of  the  Crown  of  France,  and  her  no  less  sharp  and  pretty 
daughter,  Zoe.  The  third  person  of  the  trio  was  an  old 
alert  looking  little  man  writing  at  the  table  as  if  for  very 
life.  He  wore  a  tattered  black  robe,  shortened  at  the  knee, 
to  facilitate  walking,  a  frizzled  wig  looking  as  if  it  had 
been  dressed  with  a  curry  comb,  a  pair  of  black  breeches, 
well  patched  with  various  colors,  and  gamaches  of  brown 
leather,  such  as  the  habitans  wore,  completed  his  odd  at- 


THE  ITI NEK  A  iWT  NOTARY. 


4« 


tire,  and  formed  the  professional  costume  of  Master  Pa 
thier  dit  Robin,  the  travelling  Notary,  one  of  that  not  un- 
useful  order  of  itinerants  of  the  law,  which  flourished  un- 
der the  old  regime  in  New  France. 

Upon  the  table  near  him  stood  a  black  bottle,  an  empty 
urencher  and  a  thick  scatter  of  crumbs,  showing  that  the 
old  notary  had  despatched  a  hearty  breakfast  before  com- 
mencing his  present  work  of  the  pen. 

A  hairj'  knapsack  lay  open  upon  the  table  near  his  elbow, 
disclosing  some  bundles  of  dirty  papers  tied  up  with  red 
tape ;  a  tattered  volume  or  two  of  the  Coutume  de  Paris^ 
and  little  more  than  the  covers  of  an  odd  tome  of  Pothier, 
his  great  namesake  and  prime  authority  in  the  law.  Some 
linen,  dirty  and  ragged  as  his  law  papers,  was  crammed 
into  his  knapsack  with  them.  But  that  was  neither  here 
nor  there  in  the  estimation  of  the  habitans^  so  long  as  his 
law  smelt  strong  in  the  nostrils  of  their  opponents  in  liti- 
gation. They  rather  prided  themselvea  upon  the  roughness 
of  their  travelling  notary. 

The  reputation  of  Master  Pothier  dit  Robin  was,  of 
course,  very  great  among  the  habitans,  as  he  travelled 
from  parish  to  parish,  and  from  Seigneurie  to  Seigneurie, 
drawing  bills  and  hypothecations,  marriage  contracts  and 
last  wills  and  testaments  for  the  peasantry, who  had  a  gen- 
uine Norman  predilection  for  law  and  chicanery,  and  a  re- 
spect amounting  to  veneration  for  written  documents,  red 
tape  and  sealing  wax.  Master  Pothier's  acuteness  in  pick- 
ing holes  in  the  actes  of  a  rival  notary  was  only  surpassed 
by  the  elaborate  intricacy  of  his  own,  which  he  boasted, 
not  without  reason,  would  puzzle  the  parliament  of  Paris 
and  confound  the  ingenuity  of  the  sharpest  advocates  of 
Rouen.  Master  Pothier's  actes  were  as  full  of  embryo  dis- 
putes as  a  fig  is  full  of  seeds,  and  usually  kept  all  parties 
in  hot  water  and  litigation  for  the  rest  of  their  days.  If  he 
did  happen  now  and  then  to  settle  a  dispute  between  neigh- 
bor's he  made  ample  amends  for  it  by  setting  half  the  rest 
of  the  parish  by  the  ears. 

Master  Pothier's  nose,  sharp  and  fiery  as  if  dipped  in  red 
ink,  almost  touched  the  sheet  of  paper  on  the  table  before 
him,  as  he  wrote  down  from  the  dictation  of  Dame  Bddard 
the  articles  of  a  marriage  contract  between  her  pretty 
daughter,  Zoe,  and  Antoine  La  Chance,  the  son  of  a  con* 
fortabie  but  keen  widow  of  Beauport.  ,     .,  ;;., 


4« 


THE  CUltN  DOR. 


Ui&Uiii!; 


It.-f  I' 


liilii 


Dame  Bc^dard  had  shrewdly  availed  herself  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Master  Pothier,  and  in  payment  of  a  night's  edg- 
ing, at  the  Crown  of  France,  to  have  him  write  out  the 
contract  of  marriage  in  the  absence  of  Dame  La  Chance, 
the  mother  of  Antoine,  who  would  of  course  object  to  the 
insertion  of  certain  conditions  in  the  contract  which  Dame 
B^dard  was  quite  determined  upon  as  the  price  Df  2^e's 
hand  and  fortune.  "' 

"  There  I  Dame  B^dard  1 "  cried  Master  Pothier,  stick- 
ing the  pen  behind  his  ear,  after  a  magtiificent  flourish  at 
the  last  word,  "  there  is  a  marriage  contract  fit  to  espouse 
King  Solomon  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba  !  A  dowry  of  a  hun- 
dred livres  tournoises,  two  cows,  and  a  feather  bed,  bed- 
stead, and  chest  of  linen  I     A  donation  mirevi/s  f" 

"  A  what  ?  Master  Pothier,  now  mind  I  are  you  sure 
that  is  the  right  word  of  the  grimoire  ? "  cried  Dame  B^- 
dard,  instinctively  perceiving  that  here  lay  the  very  point 
of  the  contract.  "  You  know  I  only  give  on  condition, 
Master  Pothier." 

"  O  yes  I  trust  me.  Dame  Be'dard.  I  have  made  it  a 
ionation  etttre  vifs,  revocable  par  cause  {^ingratitude,  if  your 
uture  son-in-law,  Antoine  La  Chance,  should  fail  in  his  iluty 
Id  you  and  to  Zoe." 

"And  he  won't  do  his  duty  to  Zoe,  unless  he  does  it  to 
me.  Master  Pothier.  But  are  you  sure  it  is  strong  enough. 
Will  it  hold  Dame  La  Chance  by  the  foot  so  that  she  can- 
not revoke  her  gifts  although  I  may  revoke  mini  ? "  •  ' 
"  Hold  Dame  La  Chance  by  the  foot  ?  It  will  hold  her 
as  fast  as  a  snapping  turtle  does  a  frog.  In  proof  of  it 
see  what  Ricard  says :  page  970.  Here  is  the  book.** 
Master  Pothier  opened  his  tattered  volume  and  held  it  up 
to  the  Dame.     She  shook  her  head. 

"  Thanks,  I  have  mislaid  my  glasses.       Do  you   read, 
please!"  '   •  <     ;  ^ 

"  Most  cheerfully,  good  Darae  1  A  notary  must  have 
eyes  for  everybody— -eyes  like  a  cat's  to  see  in  the  dark, 
and  power  to  draw  them  in  like  a  turtle,  so  that  he  may  see 
nothing  that  he  does  not  want  to  see." 

**  Oh,  bless  the  eyes  of  the  Notary !  "  Dame  B^dard 
grew  im:)atient.  "  Tell  me  what  the  book  says  about  gifts 
revocable — 'that  is  what  concerns  me  and  Zoe."  / 

"  Well  here  it  is.  Dame.  '  Donations  stipulated  revoca 
ble  at  the  pleasure  of  the  donor  are  null.  But  this  condition 


////•;  jr/.\f-:K\4xr  xorAfiV. 


does  not  apply  to  donations  by  contract  of  marriage,* 
Bourdon  also  says — '" 

"  A  fig  (or  Bourdon,  and  all  such  drones  I  I  want  my 
gift  made  revocable.  Dame  La  Chance's  is  not  1  I  know  by 
long  experience,  with  my  dear/cw  Ikfdard,  how  necessary  it 
is  to  hold  the  reins  tight  with  the  men.  Antoine  is  a  good 
boy,  but  he  will  be  all  the  better  for  a  careful  mother-in- 
law's  supervision  ? " 

Master  Pothier  rubbed  the  top  of  his  wig  with  his  fore- 
finger. 

"Are  you  sure,  Dame,  that  Antoine  La  Chance  will 
wear  the  bridle  easily  ?  " 

"  Assuredly !  1  should  like  to  see  son-in-law  of  mine 
>vho  would  not  I  Besides,  Antoine  is  in  the  humor  just 
now  to  refuse  nothing  for  sake  of  Zoe.  Have  you  men- 
tioned the  children.  Master  Pothier  ?  I  do  not  intend  to 
let  Dame  La  Chance  control  the  children  any  more  than 
Zoe  and  Antoine." 

"  I  have  made  you  tutrice  perpetuelle^  as  we  say  in  the 
court,  and  here  it  is,"  said  he  placing  the  tip  of  his  fin- 
ger on  a  certain  line  in  the  documint. 

Zoe  looked  down  and  blushed  to  her  finger  ends.  She 
presently  rallied  and  said  with  some  spirit — "Never 
mind  them^  Master  Pothier !  Don't  put  them  in  the  con- 
tract !  Let  Antoine  have  something  to  say  about  them, 
He  would  take  me  without  a  dower,  I  know,  and  time 
enough  to  remind  him  about  children  when  they  come." 

"  Take  you  without  dower !  Zoe  Bddard  1  you  must  be 
mad  I  "  exclaimed  the  Dame,  in  great  heat.  "  No  girl  in 
New  France  can  marry  without  a  dower,  if  it  be  only  a  pot 
and  a  bedstead  !  You  forget  too  that  the  dower  is  given 
not  so  much  for  you,  as  to  keep  up  the  credit  of  the  family. 
As  well  be  married  without  a  ring !  Without  a  dower,  in- 
deed !  " 

"  Or  witliout  a  contract  written  by  a  notary,  signed, 
sealed  and  delivered  !  "  chimed  in  Master  Pothier. 

"  Yes,  Master  Pothier,  and  I  have  promised  Zoe  a  three 
days'  wedding,  which  will  make  her  the  envy  of  all  the 
parish  of  Charlebourg.  The  Seigneur  has  consented  to 
give  her  away  in  place  of  her  poor  defunct  father ;  and 
when  he  does  that,  he  is  sure  to  stand  god-father  for  all 
the  children,  with  a  present  for  every  one  of  them  I  I 
shall  invite  you  too,  Master  Pothier  I  "  _     ; 


%\ 


:.      ■ 


-:r      ■:•  ( 


%. 


^: 


44 


r//A'  CIIIAX  DOR. 


iSoe  affcrtcd  not  to  lipar  licr  motlicr's  remark,  althougll 
she  knew  it  all  by  heart,  for  it  liad  been  dinned  into  hei 
cars  twenty  times  a  day  for  weeks,  and  soolh  to  say,  she 
liked  to  hear  it,  and  fully  appreciated  the  honors  to  come 
from  the  patronage  of  the  Seigneur. 

Master  Pothier  pricked  up  his  ears,  till  they  fairly 
raised  his  wig,  at  the  prospect  of  a  three  days'  wedding  at 
the  Crown  of  France.  He  began  an  elaborate  reply,  when 
a  horse's  tramp  broke  in  upon  them,  and  Colonel  Philibert 
wheeled  up  to  the  door  of  the  hostelry. 

Master  Pothier,  seeing  an  officer  in  the  king's  uniform, 
rose  on  the  instant  and  saluted  him  with  a  profound  bow, 
while  Dame  Bcfdard  and  Zoe,  standing  side  by  side,  drop- 
ped their  lowest  courtsey  to  the  handsome  gentleman,  as, 
with  woman's  glance,  they  saw  in  a  moment  he  was. 

Philibert  returned  their  salute  courteously,  as  he  halted 
his  horse  in  front  of  Dame  Bedard.  "  Madame  I "  said 
he,  "  I  thought  I  knew  all  roads  about  Charlebourg,  but  I 
have  either  forgotten  or  they  have  changed  the  road 
through  the  forest  to  Beaumanoir.  It  is  surely  altered 
from  what  it  was."       *** 

"  Your  honor  is  right,"  answered  Dame  Bedard,  "  the 
Intendant  has  opened  a  new  road  through  the  forest."  Zoe 
took  the  opportunity,  while  the  officer  looked  at  her  mother, 
to  examine  his  features,  dress  and  equipments,  from  head 
to  foot,  and  thought  him  the  handsomest  officer  she  had 
ever  seen. 

"  I  thought  it  must  be  so,"  replied  Philibert,  "  you  are 
the  landlady  of  the  Crown  of  France,  I  presume  ? "  Dame 
B6dard  carried  it  on  her  face  as  plainly  marked  as  the 
royal  emblem  on  the  sign  over  her  head. 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  I  am  widow  Bddard  at  your  service, 
and,  I  hope,  keep  as  good  a  hostelry  as  your  honor  will  find 
in  the  Colony.  Will  your  honor  alight  and  take  a  cup  of 
wine,  such  as  I  keep  for  guests  of  quality  ? " 

'*  Thanks,  Madame  Bedard,  I  am  in  baste  ;  I  must  find 
the  way  to  Beaumanoir.  Can  you  not  furnish  me  a 
guide,  for  I  like  not  to  lose  time  by  missing  my  way  ? " 

"  A  guide,  Sir  1  The  men  are  all  in  the  city  on  the 
king's  corvee;  Zoe  could  show  you  the  way  easily  enough." 
Zoe  twitched  her  mother's  arm  nervously,  as  a  hint  not  to 
say  too  much.  She  fel .  flattered  and  fluttered  too  at  the 
thought    of    guiding    the    strange  handsome    gentleman 


THE  ITINERANT  NOTARY. 


through  the  forest,  and  alrcidy  the  ({iiestion  sliot  through 
her  fancy,  "what  might  coRieof  it?  Siuh  things  have 
happent'cl  in  stories  1"  Poor  Zee  !  she  was  for  a  few  sec- 
onds unfaithful  to  the  meniory  (»f  Autoiiie  La  Cluince. 
But  Dame  Ik^dard  settled  all  surmises  by  turnin;^  to  Mas- 
ter Pothier  who  stood  stiti  and  upright  as  became  a  limb 
of  the  law.  "  Here  is  Master  Pothier,  your  honor,  who 
knows  every  highway  and  byway  in  ten  seigneurics.  He 
will  guide  your  honor  to  Jieaumanoir." 

"  As  easy  as  take  a  fee  or  enter  a  process,  your  honor,** 
remarked  Master  Pothier,  whose  odd  ligure  had  several 
times  drawn  the  criticizing  eye  of  Cohjnel  Philibert. 

"A  fee  !  ah !  you  belong  to  the  law  then,  n»y  good 
friend?  I  have  known  many  advocates, — "  but  Philibert 
stopped  ;  he  was  top  good  natured  to  ftuish  his  sentence. 

"  You  never  saw  one  like  me  ?  your  honor  was  going 
to  say.  True  you  never  did.  I  am  Master  Pothier,  dit 
Robin,  the  poor  travelling  notary  at  your  honor's  service, 
ready  to  draw  you  a  bond,  frame  an  acte  of  convention  mat- 
rimoniale  or  write  your  last  will  and  testament  with  any 
Notary  in  New  France.  I  can,  moreover,  guide  your  hon- 
or to  Beaumanoir  as  easy  as  drink  your  health  in  a  cup  of 
Cognac." 

Philibert  could  not  but  smile  at  the  travelling  notary, 
and  thinking  to  himself  "  too  much  Cognac  at  the  end  of 
that  nose  of  yours,  my  friend  ! "  and  which  indeed  looked 
fiery  as  Bardolph's,  with  hardly  a  spot  for  a  fly  to  rest  his 
foot  upon  without  burning. 

"  But  how  will  you  go  friend  ? "  asked  Philibert,  look- 
ing down  at  Master  Pothier's  gamaches ;  "  you  don't  look 
like  a  fast  walker?  " 

"  Oh,  your  honor,"  interrupted  Dame  Be'dard,  impatient- 
ly, for  Zoe  had  been  twitching  her  hard  to  let  her  go. 
**  Master  P'>*'uer  can  ride  the  old  sorrel  nag,  that  stands  in 
the  stable  eating  its  head  off  for  want  of  hire.  Of  course 
your  honor  will  pay  livery  ?  " 

Why,  certainly,  Madame,  and  glad  to  do  so.  So  Mas- 
ter Pothier  make  haste,  get  the  sorrel  nag,  and  let  us  be 
off." 

"I  will  be  back  in  the  snap  of  a  pen/or  in  the  time 
Dame  B6dard  can  draw  that  cup  of  Cognac,  your  honor." 

"  Master  Pothier  is  quite  a  personage  I  see,"  remarked 
Philibert,  as  the  old  notary  shufBed  off  to  saddle  the  nag. 


46 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


M 


"  Oh,  quite,  your  Honor.  He  is  the  sharpest  nota/y 
they  say  that  travels  the  road.  When  he  gets  people  into 
law  they  never  can  get  out.  He  is  so  clever  everybody 
says  1  Why,  he  assures  me  that  even  the  Intendant  con- 
sults him  sometimes  as  they  sit  eating  and  drinking  half 
the  night  together  in  the  butter}'  at  the  Cha«teau  !  " 

"  Really  \  I  must  be  careful  what  I  say, '  replied  Phili- 
bert,  laughing,  "  or  I  shall  get  injo  hot  water !  But  here 
he  comes." 

As  he  spoke,  Master  Pothier  came  up,  mounted  on  a 
raw  boned  nag,  lank  as  the  remains  of  a  twenty  year's  law 
suit.  Zoe,  at  a  hint  from  the  Colonel,  handed  him  a  cup 
of  Cognac,  which  he  quaffed  without  breathing,  smacking 
his  lips  emphatically  after  it ;  he  called  out  to  the  landlady 
"  Take  care  of  my  knapsack,  Dame  !  You  had  better  bun 
the  house  than  lose  my  papers  !  Adieu,  Tjo'q  !  study  over 
the  marriage  contract  till  I  return,  and  I  shall  be  sure  ol 
a  good  dinner  from  your  pretty  hands."      v    !«i  v  ^  ;ifM:>'  M.\ 

They  set  off  at  a  round  trot.  Colonel  Philibert,  impa- 
tient to  reach  Beaumanoir,  spurred  on  for  a  while,  hardly 
noticing  the  absurd  figure  of  his  guide,  whose  legs  stuck 
out  like  a  pair  of  compasses  beneath  his  tattered  gown. 
His  shaking  head  threatening  dislodgment  to  hat  and  wig, 
while  his  elbows  churned  at  every  jolt,  making  play  with 
the  shuffling  gait  of  his  spavined  and  wall-eyed  nag.  * 


^:"<i-«-k      i^i-'Vf>..      ■■  ■    ■=■-'^-.1 

■■.j'i.  ^^-.' 

•  -t"'   " 

'     ;.     *         .->''^'^'-'l^^^ 

>.i-jii 

."- '  '\  V  '  - 

.  ! 

r>''}h 

-*-:- 

■  .  - " '  'i  ^ 

n  .'I  ■.->  ■"--'.*  ..  i.  --..!  z.y 

IP  .■      . 

iy   ''r 

-,         •_, 

.■,,:■  ifu 

, .« 

chapte;r 

VI. 

■■':m 

BEAUMANOIR. 

■•^r.  .i\ 

.(             .^       . 

-i^.^v  ■ 

f 

They  rode  on  in  silence.  A  little  beyond  the  village 
of  Charlebourg  they  suddenly  turned  into  the  forest  of  Beau- 
manoir, where  a  well-beaten  track,  practicable  both  for 
carriages  and  horses,  gave  indications  that  the  resort  of 
visitors  to  the  ChS,teau  was  neither  small  nor  seldom.       -  ^ 

The  sun's  rays  scarcely  penetrated  the  sea  of  verdure 
overhead.  The  ground  was  thickly  strewn  with  leaves, 
the  memorials  of  past  summers ;  delicate  ferns  clustered 
round  upturned  roots  of  trees  ;  the  pretty  star-flowers, 
dark  purple  trilliums,  and  St.  John's  wort  nestled  in  sunny 


BEAUMANOIR. 


47 


spots,  and  the  dark  green  pines  breathed  out  a  resinous 
odor,  fresh  and  invigorating  to  the  passijig  rider. 

A  little  brook  peeped  here  and  there  shyly  in  th*;  fores^ 
as  it  wound  through  swales  clothed  in  spiry  grass.  Its 
tiny  banks,  spotted  with  silvery  anemones  or  tufts  of  ladies* 
slippers,  mingled  with  rosy  bells  of  the  Linnaeus  Borealis. 

Colonel  Philibert,  while  his  thoughts  were  for  the  most 
part  fixed  on  the  public  dangers  which  led  to  this  hasty 
visit  of  his  to  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir,  had  still  an  eye 
for  the  beauty  of  the  forest,  and  not  a  squirrel  leaped,  nor 
a  bird  fluttering  among  the  branches,  escaped  his  notice  as 
he  passed  by.  Still  he  rode  on  rapidly,  and  having  got 
fairly  into  the  road,  soon  outstripped  his  guide. 

"  A  crooked  road  this  to  Beaumanoir,"  remarked  he  a*" 
length,  drawing  bridle  to  allow  Master  Pothier  to  rejois 
him.  "  It  is  as  mazy  as  the  law.  I  am  fortunate,  I  am 
sure,  in  having  a  sharp  notary  like  you  to  conduct  me 
through  it." 

"  Conduct  you  !  Your  Honor  is  leading  me  !  But  the 
road  to  Beaumanoir  is  as  intricate  as  the  best  case  ever 
drawn  up  by  an  itinerant  notary."      >-  -^  '   I 

"You  seldom  ride.  Master  Pothier?"  said  Philibert, 
observing  his  guide  jolting  with  an  audible  grunt  at  every 
step  of  his  awkward  nag 

"  Ride,  your  Honor  !  N — no  !  Dame  Bddard  shall 
call  me  plaisant  Robin  if  she  ever  tempts  me  again  to 
mount  her  livery  horse — '  if  fools  only  carried  cruppers  I  * 
as  Panurge  says."  .  ^-  --^  iy  i:r^r=-^^;.'  \*::;-  'm'<  'h  .  ^i»-^ 

*'  Why,  Master  Pothier  ? "  Philibert  began  to  be  amused 
at  his  odd  guide. 

"  Why  then  I  should  be  able  to  walk  to-morrow — that 
is  all  I  This  nag  will  finish  me.  Hunc  I  hanc  1  hoc  !  He 
is  fit  to  be  Satan's  tutor  at  the  Seminary!  Hod  hand 
hunc  I  I  have  not  declined  my  pronouns  since  I  left  my  Ac- 
cidence at  the  High  School  of  Tours — not  till  to-da^  Hund 
hanc  !  hoc  I  I  shall  be  jolted  to  jelly  !  Hunc!  hanc  I  hoc  T^ 

Philibert  laughed  at  the  classical  reminiscences  of  his 
guide ;  but,  fearing  that  Pothier  might  fall  off  his  horse, 
which  he  straddled  like  a  hay  fork,  he  stopped  to  allow 
the  worthy  notary  to  recover  his  breath  and  temper. 

"  I  hope  the  world  appreciates  your  learning  and  talent, 
and  that  it  uses  you  more  gently  than  that  horse  of  yours/ 
remarked  he.    'u^-^-'.  ,!•,-.,>    :-.   -■-.-•-  .',ivvr  ,--hy  --^^wh 


48 


THE  CHIEN  DOR. 


Ilii 


"  Oh,  your  Honor  I  it  is  kind  of  you  to  rein  up  by  the 
way.  I  tind  no  fault  with  the  world  if  it  find  none  with 
me.  My  philosophy  is  this,  that  the  world  is  as  mea 
make  it."  ,;.  , 

As  the  old  saying  is  : —  ;^t.  -> 


•v>.<  ^i 


<( 


i;.-t) 


'•^S- 


*  To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in,     -  >  .    :        . 
*Tis  a  very  good  world  that  we  live  in ;  •   ^ 

But  to  borrow,  or  beg,  or  get  a  man's  own,         '^^        '  *' i 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world  that  ever  was  known.*  '  '  -  «•<    ^ 

}•.    .  .    J  i 

And  you  consider  yourself  in  the  latter  category,  Maste? 
Pothier  ?  "  Philibert  spdke  doubtingly,  for  a  more  self- 
complacent  face  than  his  companion's  he  never  saw — every 
wrinkle  trembled  with  mirth :  eyes,  cheeks,  chin,  and  brows 
surrounded  that  jolly  red  nose  of  his  like  a  group  of  gay 
boys  round  a  bon-fire.  ,v/f;"nj  u   . 

"  Oh,  I  am  content,  your  Honor  I  We  notaries  are 
privileged  to  wear  furred  cloaks  in  the  Palais  de  Justice, 
and  black  robes  in  the  country  when  we  can  get  tb^m  I 
— Look  here  at  my  robe  of  dignity!"  He  held  uj 
tattered  tail  of  his  gown  with  a  ludicrous  air."  The  ;::g- 
fession  of  notary  is  meat,  drink  and  lodging :  every  man's 
house  is  free  to  me — his  bed  and  board  I  share,  and  there 
IS  neither  wedding,  christening,  nor  funeral  in  ten  parish '^s 
that  can  go  on  without  me  ;  Governors  and  Intendauts 
flourish  and  fall,  but  Jean  Pothier  dit  Robin,  the  itinerant 
notary,  lives  merrily :  men  may  do  without  bread,  but  they 
will  not  live  without  law — at  least,  in  this  noble  litigious 
New  France  of  ours."       :  i  ■ 

"  Your  profession  seems  quite  indispensable  then ! "  re* 
marked  Philibert. 

"  Indispensable  1  I  should  think  so !  Without  proper 
^ates  the  world  would  soon  come  to  an  end,  as  did  Adam's 
happiness  in  Eden,  fcr  want  of  a  notary." 

"  Allotary,  Master  Pothier  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Honor.  It  is  clear  that  Adam  lost  his  first 
estate  de  usis  et  fructibus  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  simply 
because  there  was  no  notary  to  draw  up  for  him  an  inde- 
feasable  lease.  Why,  he  had  not  even  a  bail  d  chaptal  (a 
chattel  mortgage)  over  the  beasts  he  had  himself  named ! " 

"  Ah  1 "  replied  Philibert  smiling,  "  I  thought  Adam 
lost  his  estate  through  a  cunning  notary,  who  persuaded  his 
wife  to  break  the  lease  he  held  ;  and  poor  Adam  lost 


BEAUMANOIR. 


possession  because  he  could  not  find  a  second  notary  to 
defend  his  title." 

"  Hum !  that  might  be  ;  b  :t  judgment  went  by  default, 
as  I  have  read.  It  would  be  different  now.  There  are 
notaries  in  New  France  and  Old,  capable  of  beating  Lucifer 
himself  in  a  process  for  either  soul,  body,  or  estate  I  But, 
thank  fortune,  we  are  out  of  this  thick  forest  now." 

The  travellers  had  reached  the  other  verge  of  the 
forest  of  Beaumanoir.  A  broad  plain  dotted  with  clumps 
of  fair  trees  lay  spread  out  in  a  royal  domain,  overlooked 
by  a  steep,  wooded  mountain.  A  silvery  brook  crossed  by  a 
rustic  bridge  ran  through  the  park.  In  the  centre  was  a 
huge  cluster  of  gardens  and  patriarchal  trees,  out  of  the 
midst  of  which  rose  the  steep  roof,  chimneys,  and  gilded 
vanes,  flashing  in  the  sun,  of  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir. 

The  Chateau  was  a  long,  heavy  structure  of  stone, 
gabled  and  pointed  in  the  style  of  the  preceding  century- 
strong  enough  for  defence,  and  elegant  enough  for  the 
abode  of  the  Royal  Intendant  of  New  France.  It  had  been 
built  some  four-score  years  previously,  by  the  Intendant 
Jean  Talon,  as  a  quiet  retreat  when  tired  with  the  impor- 
tunities of  friends  or  the  persecution  of  enemies,  or  dis- 
gusted with  the  cold  indifference  of  the  Court  to  his 
statesmanlike  plans  for  the  colonization  of  New  France. 
Here  he  loved  to  retire  from  the  city,  and,  in  the  com- 
panionship of  a  few  chosen  friends,  talk  of  the  splendid 
literature  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  or  discuss  the  new 
philosophy  that  was  everywhere  springing  up  in  Europe. 

Within  the  walls  of  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir  had 
the  Sieur  Joliet  recounted  the  story  of  his  adventurous 
travels,  and  Father  Marquette  confirmed  the  vague  rumors 
that  had  long  circulated  in  the  colony  of  a  wonderful  river 
called  the  "  Father  of  Waters,"  that  flowed  southwards 
into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Here,  too,  had  the  gallant  La 
Salle  taken  counsel  of  his  friend  and  patron,  Talon,  when 
he  set  off  to  explore  the  great  river  Mississippi,  seen  by 
Joliet  and  Marquette,  and  claim  it  by  right  of  discovery 
as  the  possession  of  F  ance.       *    ^'  :^  .    >  ij?.  .-^^  *^l>^. 

A  short  distance  from  the  Chfiteau  rose  a  tower  of 
rough  masonry — crenellated  on  top  and  loop-holed  on  the 
sides — which  had  been  built  as  a  place  of  defence  and 
refuge  during  the  Indian  wars  of  the  preceding  century. 
Often  had  the  prowling  bands  of  Iroquois  turned  away^ 

4 


$0 


THE  CHJEN  D'OR, 


ir,( 


J!;     ■!   1 


pi"  \v 


baffled  and  dismayed  at  the  sight  of  the  little  fortalice  sur* 
mounted  by  a  culverin  or  two,  which  used  to  give  the 
alarm  of  invasion  to  the  colonists  on  the  slopes  of  Bourg 
Royal,  and  to  the  dwellers  along  the  wild  banks  of  the  ^ 
Montmorency. 

The  tower  was  now  disused,  and  partly  dilapidated, 
but  many  wonderful  tales  existed  among  the  neighboring 
habitans  of  a  secret  passage  that  communicated  with  the 
vaults  of  the  Chateau  ;  but  no  one  had  ever  seen  the  pas- 
sage— still  less  been  bold  enough  to  explore  it  had  they 
found  it,  for  it  was  guarded  by  a  Loup  Garnn  that  was  the 
terror  of  children  old  and  young,  as  they  crowded  close 
together  round  the  blazing  fire  on  winter  nights,  and 
repeated  old  legends  of  Brittany  and  Normandy,  altered 
to  fit  the  wild  scenes  of  the  New  World. 

Ci'lonel  Philibert  and  Master  Pothier  rode  up  the  broad 
avenue  that  led  to  the  Chateau,  and  halted  at  the  main 
gate — set  in  a  lofty  hedge  of  evergreens,  cut  into  fantastic 
shapes,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Luxembourg.  Within  the 
gate  a  vast  and  glowing  garden  was  seen — all  squares, 
circles  and  polygons.  The  beds  were  laden  with  flowers 
shedding  delicious  odors  on  the  morning  air  as  it  floated 
by,  while  the  ear  was  soothed  by  the  hum  of  bees  and 
the  songs  of  birds  revelling  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

Above  the  hedge  appeared  the  tops  of  heavily  laden 
>uit  trees,  brought  from  France  and  planted  by  Talon : 
Cherries  red  as  the  lips  of  Breton  maidens,  plums  cA 
Gascony,  Norman  apples,  with  pears  from  the  glorious 
valleys  of  the  Rhone.  The  bending  branches  were  just 
transmuting  their  green  unripeness  into  scarlet,  gold,  and 
purple,  the  imperial  colors  of  Nature  when  crowned  for  the 
festival  of  autumn. 

A  lofty  dove-cote,  surmounted  by  a  glittering  vane, 
turning  and  clashing  with  every  shift  of  the  wind,  stood  near 
the  Chateau.  It  was  the  home  of  a  whole  colony  of  snow- 
white  pigeons,  which  fluttered  in  and  out  of  it,  wheeled  in 
circles  round  the  tall  chimney  stacks,  or  strutted,  cooing 
and  bowing  together,  on  the  high  roof  of  the  Ch&teau,  a 
picture  of  innocence  and  happiness. 

But  neither  happiness  nor  innocence  was  suggested  by 
the  look  of  the  CMteau  itself,  as  it  stood  bathed  in  bright 
sunshine.  Its  great  doors  were  close  shut  in  the  face  of 
all  the  beauty  of  the  world  without.   Its  mullioned  windows, 


>' 


,;'V^A  is -,' 


;i?:-: 


BBAUMANOIR, 


5« 


that  should  have  stood  wide  open  to  let  in  the  radiance 
and  freshness  of  morning,  were  closely  blinded,  like  eyes 
wickedly  s>hut  against  God's  light  that  beat  upon  them, 
vainly  seeking  entrance. 

*  Outside  all  was  still,  the  song  of  birds  and  the  rustle 
of  leaves  alone  met  the  ear,  neither  man  nor  beast  was 
stirring  to  challenge  Colonel  Philibert's  approach  ;  but 
long  ere  he  reached  the  door  of  the  Chdteau,  a  din  of  voices 
within,  a  wild  medley  of  shouts,  song  and  laughter,  a  clatter 
of  wine  cups,  and  pealing  notes  of  violins  struck  him  with 
amazement  and  d?sgust.  He  distinguished  drunken  voices 
singing  snatches  of  bacchanalian  songs,  while  now  and 
then  stentorian  moaths  called  for  fresh  brimmers  and  new 
toasts  were  drunk  with  uproarious  applause. 

The  Chateau  seemed  a  very  pandemonium  of  riot  and 
revelry,  that  prolonged  the  night  into  the  day,  and  defied 
the  very  order  of  nature  by  its  audacious  disregard  of  all 
decency  of  time,  place  and  circumstance. 

"  In  God's  name,  what  means  all  this.  Master  Pothier  ?" 
exclaimed  Philibert,  as  they  hastily  dismounted,  and  tying 
their  horses  to  a  tree,  entered  the  broad  walk  that  led  to 
the  terrace.      '^ 

"  That  concert  going  on,  your  honor  ?"  Master  Pothiei 
shook  his  head  to  express  disapproval  and  smiled  to  ex- 
press his  inborn  sympathy  with  feasting  and  good  fellow- 
ship. "That,  yoiv  honor,  is  the  heel  of  the  hunt,  the 
hanging  up  of  the  antlers  of  the  stag  by  the  gay  chasseurs 
who  are  visiting  the  Intendant." 

"  A  hunting  party  you  mean  ?  To  think  that  men  could 
stand  such  brutishness,  even  to  please  the  Intendant  I  ** 

"  Stand  I  your  honor.  I  wager  my  gown  that  most  of 
the  chasseurs  are  lying  under  the  table  by  this  time,  although 
by  the  noise  they  make,  it  must  be  allowed  there  are  some 
burly  fellows  upon  their  legs  yet,  who  keep  the  wine  flow- 
ing like:  the  cow  of  Montmorency." 

"  'Tis  horrible  !  'tis  damnable  !"  Philibert  grew  pale 
with  passion  and  struck  his  thigh  with  his  palm,  as  was  hij 
wont  when  very  angry.  "  Rioting  in  drunkenness  when  the 
Colony  demands  the  cool  head,  the  strong  arm,  and  the  true 
heart  of  every  man  among  us !  Oh,  my  country  I  my  dear 
country !  what  fate  is  thine  to  expect  when  men  like  these 
are  thy  rulers?" 

"  Your  honor  must  be  a  stranger  in  New  France  or  you 


K 


s« 


TJiE  CHIEN  lyOR. 


;ii 


would  not  (ixpress  such  hasty,  honest  sentiments,  upon  thi 
Intendant's  hospitality.  It  is  not  the  fashion  except  among 
plain  spoken. //fz^/rt^zj-  who  always  talk  downright  Norman," 
Master  Pothier  looked  approvingly  at  Colonel  Philibert, 
who,  listening  with  indignant  ears,  scarcely  heeded,  his 
guide. 

"  That  is  a  jolly  song,  your  honor,"  continued  Pothier, 
waiving  one  hand  in  cadence  to  a  ditty  in  praise  of  wine, 
which  a  loud  voice  was  heard  singing  in  the  Chdteau,  ac- 
companied by  a  rousing  chorus  which  startled  the  very 
pigeons  on  the  roof  rnd  chimney-stacks.  Colonel  Philibert 
recognized  the  song  as  one  he  had  heard  in  the  Quartiet 
Latifty  during  his  student  life  in  Paris.  He  fancied  he  re 
cognized  the  voice  also. 


"  Pdur  des  vins  de  prix 
Vendons  tous  nos  livres  I 
C'est  peu  d'  etre  gris 
Amis  soyons  ivres  I     ^      , 
Bon.        ; 
La  Faridondaine  1 

Gai.      ^ 
La  Faridond^ !  >  ,■■ 


A  roar  of  voices  and  a  clash  of  glasses  followed  the  re- 
frain. Master  Pothier's  eyes  winked  and  blinked  in  sym- 
pathy. The  old  notary  stood  on  tiptoe,  with  outspread 
palms  as  with  os  rotundum  he  threw  in"  a  few  notes  of  his 
own  to  fill  up  the  chorus. 

Philibert  cast  upon  his  guide  a  look  of  scorn,  biting  his 
lip  angrily.  "  Go,"  said  he,  "  knock  at  the  door — it  needs 
God's  thunder  to  break  in  upon  that  infamous  orgie — say 
that  Colonel  Philibert  brings  orders  from  His  Excellency 
the  Governor  to  the  Chevalier  Intendant." 

"  And  be  served  with  a  writ  of  ejectment !  Pardon  me  I 
Be  not  angry,  sir,"  pleaded  Pothier  supplicatingly.  "  I 
dare  not  knock  at  the  door  when  they  are  at  the  devil's 
mass  inside.  The  valets  I  I  know  them  all !  they  would 
duck  me  in  the  brook,  or  drag  me  into  the  hall,  to  make 
sport  for  the  Philistines.  And  I  am  not  much  of  a  Samson 
your  honor.  I  could  not  pull  the  Chateau  down  upon  their 
heads, — I  wish  I  coul  1 !  " 

Master  Pothier's  fears  did  not  appear  ill-grounded  to 
Philibert  as  a  fresh  burst  of  drunken  uproar  assailed  his 
cars.     "  Wait  ray  return,"  said  he,  "  I  will  knock  on  the 


THE  INTEND  A  NT  BICO  T.  ^ 

door  myself."  He  left  his  guide,  ran  up  the  broad  stone 
steps,  and  knocked  loudly  upon  the  door  again  and  again  I 
he  tried  it  at  last,  and  to  his  surprise,  found  it  unlatched,  he 
pushed  it  open,  no  servitor  appearing  to  admit  him. 
Colonel  Philibert  went  boldly  in.  A  blaze  of  ligiit  almost 
dazzled  his  eyes.  The  Chateau  was  lit  up  with  lamps  and 
candelabra  in  every  part.  The  bright  rays  of  the  sun  beat 
in  vain  for  admittance  upon  the  closed  doors  and  blinded 
windows;  but  the  splendor  of  midn^dit  oil  pervaded  the 
interior  of  the  stately  mansion,  makmj^  an  artificial  night 
that  prolonged  the  wild  orgie  of  the  Intendant  into  the 
hours  of  day. 


'  'yr 


:('K 


'i 


'■•'.rJ 


\m 


jn.:,' 


n  .  J  ..  i  -. 


O     r]. 


-    CHAPTER  VII.  ^   !,.o  M( 

THE   INTENDANT   BIGOT.' 


The  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir  had,  since  the  advent  ol 
the  Intendant  Bigot,  been  the  scene  of  many  a  festive 
revelry  that  matched  in  bacchanalian  frenzy,  the  wild  orgies 
of  the  Regency,  and  the  present  debaucheries  of  Croisy,  and 
thepeiiis  appartemens  of  Versailles.  Its  splendor,  its  luxury, 
its  riotous  feasts  lasting  without  intermission  sometimes  for 
days,  were  the  themes  of  wonder  and  disgust  to  the  unso- 
phisicated  people  of  New  France,  and  of  endless  compari- 
son between  the  extravagance  of  the  royal  Intendant,  and 
the  simple  manners  and  inflexible  morals  of  the  Governor 
General. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Chateau,  the  scene  of  the  gorgeous 
feasts  of  the  Intendant,  was  brilliantly  illuminated  with 
silver  lamps,  glowing  like  globes  of  sunlight  as  they  hung 
from  the  lofty  ceiling,  upon  which  was  painted  a  fresco  of 
the  apotheosis  of  Louis  XIV.,  where  the  Grand  Monarque 
was  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  Cond^s,  Orleanois  and  Bour- 
bon 3  of  near  and  more  remote  consanguinity.  At  the  head 
of  the  room  hung  a  full  length  portrait  of  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour,  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.,  and  the  friend  and 
patroness  of  the  Intendant  Bigot,  her  bold  voluptuous 
beauty  seemed  well  fitted  to  be  the  presiding  genius  of  his 
house.    The  walls  bore  many  other  paintings  of  artistic 


■  "1  S'- 


% 


i 


54 


THE  CHIEN  I/OR. 


W 


% 


[M 


m 


and  historic  value.  The  King  and  Queen  ;  the  dark-eyed 
Montespan ;  the  crafty  Maintenon,  and  the  pensive  beauty 
of  Louise  de  la  Valifere,  the  only  mistress  of  Louis  XIV, 
who  loved  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  whose  portrait,  copied 
from  this  picture,  may  still  be  seen  in  the  Chapel  of  the 
Ursulines  of  Quebec,  where  the  fair  Louise  is  represented 
as  St.  Thais  kneeling  at  prayer  among  the  nuns. 

The  table  in  the  great  hall,  a  masterpiece  of  workman- 
ship, was  made  of  a  dark  Canadian  wood  then  newly  intro- 
duced, and  stretched  the  length  of  the  hall.  A  massive  gold 
6pergne  of  choicest  Italian  art,  the  gift  of  La  Pompadour, 
stood  on  the  centre  of  the  table.  It  represented  Bacchus 
enthroned  on  a  tun  of  wine,  presenting  flowing  cups  to  a 
dance  of  fauns  and  satyrs. 

Silver  cups  of  Venetian  sculpture,  and  goblets  of  Bohe- 
mian manufacture,  sparkled  like  stars  upon  the  brilliant  table 
— brimming  over  with  the  gold  and  ruby  vintages  of  France 
and  Spain — or  lay  overturned  amid  pools  of  wine  that  ran 
down  upon  the  velvet  carpet.  Dishes  of  Parmesan  cheese, 
caviare  and  other  provocatives  to  thirst  stood  upon  the  table, 
imid  vases  of  flowers  and  baskets  of  the  choicest  fruits  of 
jie  Antilles.      ■'  'f^    •■     «     -"'    <-■''■'''  '■r-'fi  wi^wn-^v;, ,.  ^.ii 

Round  this  magnificent  table  sat  a  score  or  more  of 
revellers — in  the  garb  of  gentlemen,  but  all  in  disorder  and 
soiled  with  wine, — their  countenances  were  inflamed,  their 
eyes  red  and  fiery,  their  tongues  loose  and  loquacious. 
Here  and  there  a  vacant  or  overturned  chair  showed  where 
a  guest  had  fallen  in  the  debauch  and  been  carried  off  by 
the  valets,  who  in  gorgeous  liveries  waited  on  the  table. 
A  band  of  musicians  sat  up  in  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the 
hall  and  filled  the  pauses  of  the  riotous  feast  with  the  ravish- 
ing strains  of  Lulli  and  Destouches. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  first  in  place  as  in  rank,  sat 
Frangois  Bigot,  Intendant  of  New  France.  His  low,  well- 
set  figure,  dark  hair,  small  keen  black  eyes  and  swarthy 
features  full  of  fire  and  animation  bespoke  his  Gascon  blood. 
His  countenance  was  far  from  comely — nay,  when  in  re- 
pose, even  ugly  and  repulsive, — but  his  eyes  were  magnets 
that  drew  men's  looks  towards  him,  for  in  them  lay  the  force 
of  a  powerful  will  and  a  depth  and  subtlety  of  intellect  that 
made  men  fe^r,  if  they  could  not  love  him.  Yet  when  he 
chose — and  it  was  his  usual  mood — to  exercise  his  bland- 
ishments on  men,  he  rarely  failed  to  captivate  them,  while 


THB  mTBNDANT  BIGOT. 


55 


his  pleasant  wit,  courtly  ways  and  natural  gallantry  towards 
women,  exercised  with  the  polished  seductiveness  he  had 
learned  in  the  court  of  Louis  XV.,  made  Francois  Bigot  the 
most  plausible  and  dangerous  man  in  New  France. 
u  He  was  fond  of  wine  and  music,  passionately  addicted 
to  gambling,  and  devoted  to  the  pleasant  vices  that  were 
rampant  in  the  Court  of  France,  finely  educated,  able  in 
She  conduct  of  affairs,  and  fertile  in  expedients  to  accom- 
plish his  ends.  F'ran^ois  Bigot  might  have  saved  New 
France,  had  he  been  honest  as  he  was  clever ;  but  he  was 
unprincipled  and  corrupt.  No  .conscience  checked  his 
ambition  or  his  love  of  pleasure.  He  ruined  New  France 
for  the  sake  of  himself  and  his  patroness,  and  the  crowd  of 
courtiers  and  frail  beauties  who  surrounded  the  king,  and 
whose  arts  and  influence  kept  him  in  his  high  office  despite 
all  the  efforts  of  the  Honnetes  gens^  the  good  and  true  men 
of  the  Colony,  to  remove  him. 

He  had  already  ruined  and  lost  the  ancient  Colony  of 
Acadia,  through  his  defrauds  and  malversations  as  Chief 
Commissary  of  the  Army,  and,  instead  of  trial  and  punish- 
ment, had  lately  been  exalted  to  the  higher  and  still  more 
important  office  of  Royal  Intendant  of  New  France. 

On  the  right  of  the  Intendant  sat  his  bosom  friend,  the 
Sieur  Cadet,  a  large,  sensual  man,  with  twinkling  grey  eyes, 
ihick  nose  and  full  red  lips.  His  broad  face,  flushed  with 
wine,  glowed  like  the  harvest  moon  rising  above  the  horizon. 
Cadet  had,  it  was  said,  been  a  butcher  in  Quebec.  He 
was  now,  for  the  misfortune  of  his  country.  Chief  Commis- 
sary of  the  Army,  and  a  close  confederate  of  the  Inten 
dant. 

On  the  left  of  the  Intendant  sat  his  secretary,  De  Pean, 
crafty  and  unscrupulous,  a  parasite  too,  who  flattered 
his  master  and  ministered  to  his  pleasures.  De  Pean  was 
a  military  man  and  not  a  bad  soldier  in  the  field  ;  but  he 
loved  gain  better  than  glory,  and  amassed  an  enormous 
fortune  out  of  the  impoverishment  of  his  country. 

Le  Mercier  too  was  there,  Commandant  of  Artillery,  a 
brave  officer,  but  a  bad  man ;  Varin,  a  proud  arrogant 
libertine,  Commissary  of  Montreal,  who  outdid  Bigot  in 
rapine  and  Cadet  in  coarseness ;  De  Breard,  Comptroller 
of  the  Marine,  a  worthy  associate  of  Penisault,  -trhose 
pinched  features  and  cunning  leer  were  in  keeping  with  his 
important  office  of  chief  manager  of  the  Friponne ;  Perrault^ 


P' 


■X. 


S6 


THE  CHI  EN  tfOK. 


It 

i! 


1 


D*  Estebe,  Morin  and  Vergjor,  ail  creatures  of  Ihft  Inten* 
dant,  swelled  the  roll  of  infamy,  as  partners  of  the  Grand 
Company  of  Associates  trading  in  New  France,  as  their 
charter  named  them — the  '-  C^rand  Company  of  Thieves," 
as  the  people  in  their  plain  Norman  called  them,  who  rob- 
bed them  in  the  King's  name,  and  under  pretence  of 
maintaining  the  war,  passed  the  most  arbitrary  decrees,  the 
only  object  of  which  was  to  enrich  themselves  and  their 
higher  patrons  at  the  Court  of  Versailles. 

The  rest  of  the  company  seated  round  the  table  com- 
prised a  number  of  dissolute  Seigneurs  and  gallants  of 
fashion  about  town — men  of  great  wants  and  great  extra- 
vagance, just  the  class  so  quaintly  described  by  Charle- 
voix, a  quarter  of  a  century  previous,  as  "gentlemen 
thoroughly  versed  in  the  most  elegant  and  agreeable  modes 
of  spending  money,  but  greatly  at  a  loss  how  to  obtain 
it."  ■ 

Among  the  gay  young  Seigneurs  who  had  been  drawn 
into  the  vortex  of  Bigot's  splendid  dissipation,  was  the 
brave,  handsome  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny — a  captain 
of  the  Royal  Marine,  a  colonial  corps  recently  embodied 
at  Quebec.  In  general  form  and  feature  Le  Gardeur  was 
a  manly  reflex  of  his  beautiful  sister  Am61ie;  but  his 
countenance  was  marred  with  traces  of  debauchery.  His 
face  was  inflamed,  and  his  dark  eyes,  so  like  his  sister's, 
by  nature  tender  and  true,  were  now  glittering  with  the 
adder  tongues  of  the  cursed  wine  serpent. 

Taking  the  cue  from  Bigot,  Le  Gardeur  responded 
madly  to  the  challenges  to  drin]k  from  all  around  him. 
Wine  was  now  flooding  every  brain,  and  the  table  was  one 
scene  of  riotous  debauch. 

"  Fill  up  again,  Le  Gardeur! "  exclaimed  the  Intendant, 
with  a  loud  and  still  clear  voice  ;  "  the  lying  clock  says 
it  is  day — broad  day,  but  neither  cock  crows  nor  day 
dawns  in  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir,  save  at  the  will  of 
its  master  and  his  merry  guests !  Fill  up,  companions  all  I 
The  lamp-light  in  the  wine  cup  is  brighter  than  the  clearest 
sun  that  ever  shone !  " 

"  Bravo  Bigot !  name  your  toast,  and  we  will  pledge 
it  till  the  S(  ven  stars  count  fourteen!"  replied  Le  Gar- 
deur, looking  lazily  at  the  great  clock  in  the  hall.  "  I  see 
four  clocks  in  ilic  room,  and  every  one  of  them  lies  if  it 
says  it  is  d^yl    .'■■',■."  -"''-*■  *;.'■«  '■■'.fl;J'*t^•f■♦^A ■*'''. '-•-t^■'*,T.■^^■'5''■''!";v*'■'^^^^^^^^ 


THE  fATENDAAWT  B/GOT. 


51 


4  •*You  are  mending,  Le  Gardeur  De  R(f)entlgny!  You 
are  worthy  to  b<?long  to  the  Grand  Company!  Bui  you 
shail  have  my  toast.  We  h.ive  drank  it  twenty  times 
already,  but  it  will  stand  diinkinpj  twenty  times  more.  It 
is  the  best  prologue  to  wine  ever  devised  by  wit  of  mao 
— a  woman — "  '  r    ;■ 

"And  the  best  epilogue,  too,  Bigot!"  interjected 
Varin,  visibly  drunk  ;  "  but  let  us  have  the  toast — my  cup 
is  waiting." 

*'  Well,  fill  up  all,  then  ;  and  we  will  drink  the  health, 
wealth,  and  love  by  steaUii,  of  the  jolliest  dame  in  sunny 
France — the  Marquise  de  Pompadour!"       '     '''"' *^ 

"  La  Pompadour  !  La  Pompadour  I ''  Every  tongue 
repeated  the  name,  the  goblets  were  drained  to  the  bot- 
toms, and  a  thunder  of  applause  and  clattering  of  glasses 
followed  the  toast  of  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.,  who  was 
the  special  protectress  of  the  Grand  Comj^any — a  goodly 
share  of  whose  profits  in  the  moropoly  of  trade  in  New 
France  was  thrown  into  the  lap  of  the  powerful  favorite. 

"  Come,  Varin  !  your  turn  now  I  "  cried  Bigot,  turning 
to  the  Commissary ;  "  a  toast  for  Ville  Marie  !  Merry 
Montreal !  where  they  eat  like  rats  of  Poitou,  and  drink  till 
they  ring  the  fire  bells,  as  the  Bordelais  did  to  welcome 
the  collectors  of  the  gabelle.  The  Montrealers  have  not 
rung  the  fire  bells  yet  against  you,  Varin,  but  they  will  by 
and  by! "  > 

Varin  filled  his  cup  with  an  unsteady  hand  until  it  ran 
over,  and,  propping  his  body  against  the  table  as  he  stood 
up,  replied  :  "  A  toast  for  Ville  Marie  !  and  our  friends  in 
need ! — the  blue  caps  of  the  Richelieu  1 "  Tl  .s  was  in 
allusion  to  a  recent  ordinance  of  the  Intendant,  authorizing 
him  to  seize  all  the  corn  in  store  at  Montreal  and  in  the 
surrounding  country — under  pretence  of  supplying  the 
army,  and  really  to  secure  the  monopoly  of  it  for  the  Grand 
Company." 

The  toast  was  drunk  amid  rapturous  applause.  "  Well 
said,  Varin !  "  exclaimed  Bigot ;  "  that  toast  implied  both 
business  and  pleasure — the  business  was  to  sweep  out  the 
granges  of  the  farmers :  the  pleasure  is  to  drink  in  honor 
of  your  success." 

"  My  foragers  sweep  clean !  "  said  Varin,  resuming  his 
seat,  and  looking  under  his  hcind  to  steady  his  gaze. 
"  Better  brooms  were  never  made  in  Besan^on.      The 


!       I' 


Iji'l,  -if 

ir  1 


:|:i!. 


i.  •(:'■■ 


II- 


|S  TW:^  CHIEN  D'OR, 

country  is  swept  as  clean  as  a  ball  room.  Your  Excel' 
lency  and  the  Marquise  might  lead  the  dance  over  it,  and 
not  a  straw  lie  in  your  way  I  " 

"  And  did  you  manage  it  witiiout  a  fight,  Varin  ?  ** 
asked  the  Sieur  d'Estebe,  with  a  half  sneer. 

"  Fight !  Why  fight  ?  The  habitam  will  never  resist 
the  King's  name.  We  conjure  the  devil  down  with  that. 
When  we  skin  our  eels  we  don't  begin  at  the  tail !  If  we 
did  the  habitans  would  be  like  the  eels  of  Mdlun— cry 
out  before  they  were  hurt.  No !  no !  d'Estebe  !  We  are 
more  polite  in  Ville  Marie.  We  tell  them  the  King's 
troops  need  the  corn.  They  doff  their  caps,  and,  with 
tears  in  their  eyes,  say,  "  Monsieur  Le  Commissaire,  the 
King  can  have  all  we  possess,  and  ourselves  too,  if  he  will 
only  save  Canada  from  the  Bostonnais.  This  is  better  than 
stealing  the  honey  and  killing  the  bees  that  made  it. 
d'Estebe  I " 

"But  what  became  of  the  families  of  the  habitans  after 
this  swoop  of  your  foragers  ?  "  asked  the  Seigneur  De 
Beauce,  a  country  gentleman  who  retained  a  few  honor- 
able ideas  floating  on  top  of  the  wine  he  had  swallowed. 

"  Oh !  the  families — that  is,  the  women  and  children, 
for  we  took  the  men  for  the  army.  You  see,  De  Beauce," 
replied  Varin,  with  a  mocking  air,  as  he  crossed  his  thumbs 
like  a  peasant  of  Languedoc  when  he  wishes  to  inspire 
belief  in  his  words,  "  the  families  have  to  do  what  the 
gentlemen  of  Beauce  practise  in  times  of  scarcity — break- 
fast by  gaping  I  or  they  can  eat  wind  like  the  people  of 
Poitou.     It  will  make  them  spit  clean  !  " 

De  Beauce  was  irritated  at  the  mocking  sign  and  the 
proverbial  allusion  to  the  gaping  of  the  people  of  Beauce. 
He  started  up  in  wrath,  and  striking  his  fist  on  the 
table, 

"  Monsieur  Varin !  "  cried  he,  "  do  not  cross  your 
thumbs  at  me,  or  I  will  cut  them,  off !  Let  me  tell  you  the 
gentlemen  of  Beauce  do  not  breakfast  on  gaping,  but  have 
plenty  of  corn  to  stuff  even  a  Commissary  of  Montreal !  " 

The  Sieur  Le  Mercier,  at  a  sign  from  Bigot,  interposed 
to  stop  the  rising  quarrel.  •  "  Don't  mind  Varin,"  said  he, 
whispering  to  De  Beauce  ;  "  he  is  drunk,  and  a  row  will 
anger  the  Intendant.  Wait,  and  by  and  by  you  shall  toast 
Varin  as  the  chief  baker  of  Pharoah,  who  got  hanged 
because  he  stole  the  King's  corn." 


THR  INTEND  A  NT  BIGOT 


Sf 


*  As  he  desen'cs  to  be  for  his  insult  to  the  gentlemen 
of  Beauce,"  insinnted  Bi<]jot,  leaninj^  over  to  his  angry 
puest,  at  the  same  ne  winkinjij  g^od  humoredly  to  Varin. 
"  Come  now,  De  Beauce,  friends  all — atnantium  ira,  you 
know,  which  is  Latin  for  love — and  I  will  sing  you  a  stave 
in  praise  of  this  good  wine,  which  is  better  than  Bacchus 
ever  drank."  The  Intendant  rose  up,  and  holding  a  brim- 
ming glass  in  his  hand,  chanted  in  full  musical  voice  a 
f.ivorite  ditty  of  the  day  as  a  ready  mode  of  restoring  har- 
mony among  the  company  : — 


"Amis!  dans  ma  bouteille, 
Voilk  le  vin  de  France  1 
,p-.,    C'est  le  hon  vin  qui  danse  ici, 
?'  "    C'.st  Ic  bon  vin  qui  danse. 

Ga'  Ion  la ! 
'    '  •'  '•.'     ■    •      Vive  la  lirettel 

■.i      .,  .  f     D^s  Fillettes 
.    '       ,  Tl  y  en  aural 


U 


w    '; 


I 


.  rU/.-.. 


'.t. 


"  yivfnf  ies  Fillettes !   The  girl'-,  l  >  Quebec  ? — first  in  beauty 
last  in  love,  and  nowhere  in  bcorn  of  a  gallant  worthy 
of  them  !  "  continued  Fig  t.     "What  ^ay  you,  De  Pean? 
Are  you  not  prepared  tj  toast  the  belles  of  Quebec?  " 

"  That  I  am,  your  Excell^^ncy  1 "  De  Pean  was  un- 
steady upon  his  feet  as  he  rose  tc  respond  to  the  Intendant's 
challenge.  He  pot-valiantly  drew  his  sword  and  laid  it  on 
the  table.  "  I  will  call  on  the  honorable  company  to  drink 
this  toast  upon  their  knees,  and  there  is  my  sword  to  cut  the 
legs  off  any  gentleman  who  will  not  kneel  down  and  drink 
a  full  cup  to  the  bright  eyes  of  the  belle  of  Quebec — the 
incomparable  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  I  " 

The  toas^  suited  their  mood.  Every  one  filled  up  his 
fip  in  honor  o^  a  beauty  so  universally  admired.     •  >  +- 

"  Kneel  down  all  I  "  cried  the  Intendant,  "  or  De  t*eau 
will  hamstring  us  I "  All  knelt  down  with  a  clash — some 
of  them  unable  to  rise  again.  "  We  will  drink  to  the 
Angdlique  charms  of  the  fair  Des  Meloises.  Come  now, 
all  together ! — as  the  jolly  Dutchmen  of  Albany  say,  "  Upp 
seys  overl"  "'-'  ^--^  '  -"'^-^ '  ^■--i,'^^^^'^  ^  -  ^n^^ 

Such  of  the  company  as  were  able,  resumed  their  seats 
amid  great  laughter  and  confusion.  When  the  Sieur 
Deschenaux,  a  reckless  young  gallant,  ablaze  with  wine 
and  excitement,  stood  up,  leaning  against  the  table,  his 
fingers  dabbled  in  his  wine  cup  as  he  addressed  them,  but 
he  did  not  notice  it. 


•i 


II 


h    r 


If 


1| 


Mi 


^l 


m 


I  I 


1 1     i'»ii. 


'      ,ii 


fl'      'jl 

i                               (Hi' 

!                  1 

i  >  lit 

■1"'    ii: 

i-tii 

|0  THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 

"  We  have  drank  with  all  the  honors,"  said  he,  **  to  th« 
bright  eyes  of  the  belle  of  Quebec.  I  call  on  every  gentle- 
man now,  to  drink  to  the  still  brighter  eyes  of  the  belle  o£ 
New  France  1 " 

"  Who  is  she  ?  Name !  name ! "  shouted  a  dozen 
voices ;  "  who  is  the  belle  of  New  France  ? " 

"  Who  is  she  ?  Why,  who  can  she  be  but  the  fail 
Angdiique  whom  we  have  just  honored?"  replied  De  Pean 
hotly,  jealous  of  any  precedence  in  that  quarter.  «> 

"  Tut ! "  cried  Deschenaux,  "  you  compare  glow  wonns 
with  evening  stars  when  you  pretend  to  match  Ang^liqae 
Des  Meloises  with  the  lady  I  propose  to  honor !  I  call 
for  full  brimmers — Cardinal's  hats  ! — in  honor  of  the  belle 
of  New  France — the  fair  Am^lie  De  Repentigny !  " 

Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  sitting  leaning  on  his 
elbow,  his  face  beaming  with  jollity  as  he  waited,  with  a 
full  cup,  for  Deschenaux's  toast.  But  no  sooner  did  he  hear 
the  name  of  his  sister  from  those  lips  than  he  sprang  up 
as  though  a  serpent  had  bit  him.  He  hurled  his  goblet  at 
the  head  of  Deschenaux,  with  a  fierce  imprecation  and  drew 
his  sword  as  he  rushed  towards  him.  ......  <  .r  ,  ,..i.  > 

"  A  thousand  lightnings  strike  you  !  How  dare  you 
pollute  that  holy  name,  Deschenaux  ?  Retract  that  toast  in- 
stantly, or  you  shall  drink  it  in  blood  ; — retract,  I  say !  " 

The  guests  rose  to  their  feet  in  terrible  uproar.  Le 
Gardeur  struggled  violently  to  break  through  a  number  of 
those  who  interposed  between  him  and  Deschenaux,  who, 
roused  to  frenzy  by  the  insult  from  Le  Gardeur,  had  also 
drawn  his  sword  and  stood  ready  to  receive  the  assault  of 
his  antagonist. 

The  Intendant,  whose  courage  and  presence  of  mind 
never  forsook  him,  pulled  Deschenaux  down  upon  his  seat 
ar  d  held  fast  his  sword  arm,  shouting  in  his  ear : 

"  Are  you  mad,  Deschenaux  ?  You  knew  she  was  his 
sister,  and  how  he  worships  her  !  Retract  the  toast — it  was 
inopportune  !  Besides,  recollect,  we  want  to  win  over  De 
Repentigny  to  the  Grand  Company  I  " 

Deschenaux  struggled  for  a  minute,  but  the  influence  ol 
the  Intendant  was  all  powerful  over  him.  He  gave  way. 
"  Damn  De  Repentigny,"  said  he,  "  I  only  meant  to  do 
honor  to  the  pretty  witch.  Who  would  have  expected  him 
to  take  it  up  in  that  manner?  "     ,i»  i^.,  *     «  ^  h;« 

''  Any  one  who  knows  him  !    besides/'  continued  the 


'>")j.ii)fl   K\':    i>'0  :J>11 


THE  INTENDANT  BIGOT. 


6t 


Intendant,  "  If  you  must  toast  his  sister,  wait  till  we  get 
him  body  and  soul  made  over  to  the  Grand  Company,  and 
then  he  will  care  no  more  for  his  sister's  fame  than  you 
do  for  yours." 

"But  the  insult!  He  has  drawn  blood  with  the  gob- 
let," said  Deschenaux,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  fingers 
"  I  cannot  pardon  that !  " 

"  Tut,  tut ;  fight  him  another  day.  But  you  shall  not 
fight  here  !  Odet  and  Le  Mercier  have  pinned  the  young 
Bayard,  I  see  ;  so  you  have  .\  chance  to  do  the  honorable, 
Deschenaux,  go  to  him,  retract  the  toast  and  say  you  had 
forgotten  the  fair  lady  was  his  sister." 

Deschenaux  swallowed  his  wrath,  rose  up  and  sheathed 
his  sword.  Taking  the  Intendant  by  the  arm  he  went  up 
to  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  still  trying  to  advance.  Desche- 
naux held  up  his  hand  deprecatingly,  "  Le  Gardeur,"  said 
he,  with  an  air  of  apparent  contrition,  "  I  was  wrong  to  of- 
fer that  toast.  I  had  forgotten  the  fair  lady  was  your  sis- 
ter. I  retract  the  toast,  since  it  is  disagreeable  to  you,  al- 
though all  would  have  been  proud  to  drink  it.** 

Le  Gardeau  was  as  hard  to  appease  as  he  was  easy  to 
excite  to  anger.  He  still  held  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand. 

"  Come !  "  cried  Bigot,  "  you  are  as  hard  to  please  as 
Villiers  Vendome,  whom  the  king  himself  could  not  satisfy. 
Deschenaux  says  he  is  sorry.  A  gentleman  cannot  say 
more.     So  shake  hands  and  be  friends,  De  Repentigny." 

Impervious  to  threats  and  often  to  reason,  Le  Gardeur 
could  not  resist  an  appeal  to  his  generosity.        \a  vj^f  i'  a; 

He  sheathed  his  sword  and  held  out  his  hand  with 
frank  forgiveness.  "  Your  apology  is  ample,  Sieur  Desche- 
naux. I  am  satisfied  you  meant  no  affront  to  my  sister  I  It 
is  my  weak  point.  Messieurs,"  continued  he,  looking  firmly 
at  the  company,  ready  to  break  out  had  he  detected  the 
shadow  of  a  sneer  upon  any  one's  countenance.  "  I  h©nor 
her  as  I  do  the  queen  of  Heaven.  Neither  of  their  names 
ought  to  be  spoken  here." 

"  Well  said  1  Le  Gardeur,"  exclaimed  the  Intendant. 
"  That's  right,  shake  hands  and  be  friends  again.  Blessed 
are  quarrels  that  lead  to  reconciliation,  and  the  washing 
out  of  feuds  in  wine.     Take  your  seats,  gentlemen." 

There  was  a  general  scramble  back  to  the  table.  Bigot 
Stood  up  in  renewed  force,         sin*     -   ..  .-  .-■  *      <: 


6a 


THE  CmEN  ETOR. 


I  in; 


1 1  "  < 


|»:  t 


I!  '. 


\> 


• '  "Valets  1"  cried  he,  "bring  in  no*v  the  largest  cups  I 
We  will  drink  a  toast  five  fathoms  deep,  in  water  of  life- 
strong  enough  to  melt  Cleopatra's  pearls,  and  to  a  jollief 
dame  than  Egypt's  queen.  But  fi'-st  we  will  make  I,e  Gar 
deur  De  Repentigny  free  of  the  guild  of  noble  partners  ol 
the  company  of  adventurers  trading  in  New  France." 

The  valets  flew  in  and  out.  In  a  few  moments  the  table 
was  replenished  with  huge  drinking  cups,  silver  flagons, 
and  all  the  heavy  impedimenta  of  the  army  of  Bacchus. 

"  You  are  willing  to  become  one  of  us,  and  enter  the 
jolly  guild  of  the  Grand  Company  ?  "  exclaimed  the  In- 
tendant,  taking  Le  Gardeur  by  the  hand. 

*'  Yes,  I  am  a  stranger  and  you  may  take  me  in.  T 
claim  admission,"  replied  Le  Gardeur  with  drunken  gravi- 
ty, "  and  by  St.  Pigot,  I  will  be  true  to  the  guild !  " 

Bigot  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks.  "  By  the  boot  of 
St.  Benoit,  you  speak  like  the  king  of  Yvetot.  Le  Gar- 
deur de  Repentigny,  you  are  fit  to  wear  fur  in  the  Court  of 
Burgundy." 

"  You  can  measure  my  foot,  Bigot,"  replied  Le  Gar- 
deur, "  and  satisfy  the  company  that  I  am  able  to  wear  the 
boot  of  St  Benoit."-  ^'■''  «-^*  ''''-''■  ■'''"'  "    •-'«•'-  ^■^^;?-*^^^' 

"  By  jolly  St.  Chinon,  and  you  shall  wear  it,  Le  Gar- 
deur," exclaimed  Bigot,  handing  him  a  quart  flagon  of 
Mrine,  which  Le  Gardeur  drank  without  drawing  breath. 
"  That  boot  fits,"  shout::id  the  Intendant  exultingly :  "  now 
for  the  chant  I  I  will  lead.  Stop  the  breath  of  any  one 
who  will  not  join  in  the  chorus." 

The  Intendant  in  great  voice  led  off  a  macaronic  verse 
of  Moli^re,  that  had  often  made  merry  the  orgies  of  Ver- 
sailles:—     ~  '     >  -1  J 

"  Bene,  bene,  bene,  respondere  I        ...     , ,.   - 
Dignus,  digaenus  es,  entrare         -•"'^; 

^iji   fj  ;*!;>'?»  t!v     In  nostro  loeto corpore I  "      '•''"    '  •«';        '/  y'  ''^^ 

A  tintamarre  of  voices,  and  a  jingle  of  glasses  accom- 
panied the  violins  and  tambours  de  basque,  as  the  com- 
pany stood  up  and  sang  the  song,  winding  up  with  a  grand 
burst  at  the  chorus  : — • 


"  Vivat  I  vivat  I  vlvat  I  cent  fois  vivat ! 
Novus  socius  qui  tam  bene  parlat  I 
Mille  mille  aun:s  et  manget  et  bibat, 

:  Fripet  et  friponns^t  I  * 


j./T.sj''-    J.'v.r' 


TUB  ItfTBNDAlfT  BIGOT. 


63 


Ha.ids  were  shaken  all  round,  congratulations,  em- 
bracings  and  filthy  kisses  showered  upon  Le  Gardeur  to 
honor  his  admission  as  a  partner  of  the  Grand  Company. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Bigot,  "  we  will  drink  a  draught 
long  as  the  bell  rope  of  Notre  Dame.  Fill  up  brimmers 
of  the  quintessence  of  the  grape,  and  drain  them  dry  in 
honor  of  the  Friponne  !  " 

The  name  was  electric.  It  was  in  the  country  a  word 
of  opprobrium,  but  at  Beaumanoir  it  was  laughed  at  with 
true  Gallic  nonchalance.  indeed,  to  show  their  scorn 
of  public  opinion,  the  Grand  Company  had  lately  launched 
a  new  ship  upon  the  great  lakes  to  carry  on  the  fur  trade, 
and  had  appropriately  and  mockingly  named  her,  "  La  Fri- 
ponne ^ 

"Let  them  laugh  that  win!"  said  Bigot  one  day  to 
D'Estebe,  who  was  in  a  rage  at  having  heard  the  hateful 
epithet  used  by  a  plain  spoken  habitan.  "  We  accept  the 
name  and  can  withstand  the  blame.  If  they  say  more 
I  will  paint  it  in  letters  a  yard  long  upon  the  front  of  the 
Palais,  and  make  it  the  horn  book  from  which  the  rustics 
shall  take  their  first  lesson  in  reading  and  spelling." 

The  toast  of  the  Fripon?ie!  was  drunk  with  applause, 
followed  by  a  wild  Bacchanalian  song — 

The  Sieur  Morin  had  been  a  merchant  in  Bordeaux 
whose  bond  was  held  in  as  little  value  as  his  word.  He 
had  lately  removed  to  New  France,  transferred  the  bulk  of 
his  merchandize  to  the  FriponnC,  and  become  an  active 
agent  of  the  Grand  Company. 

"  La  Friponne  ! "  cried  he,  "  I  have  drunk  success  to 
her  with  all  my  heart  and  throat.  But  T  say  she  will  never 
wear  a  night-cap  and  sleep  quietly  in  our  arms,  until  we 
muzzle  the  Golden  Dog,  that  barks  by  uight  and  by  day  in 
the  Rue  Buade." 

"  That  is  true,  Morin  ! "  interrupted  Varjn,  roust.-!  io 
wrath  at  the  mention  of  the  Golden  Dog.  **  The  grand 
company  will  never  know  peace  until  we  send  the  Bour- 
geois, his  master,  back  to  the  Bastille.     The  Golden  Dog 

IS—." 

" Damn  the  Golden  Dog!"  exclaimed  Bigot,  passion- 
ately. "  Why  do  you  utter  his  name,  Varin,  to  sour  our 
wine  ?  I  hope  one  day  to  pull  down  the  Dog,  as  well  as 
the  whole  kennel  of  the  insolent  Bourgeois."  Then,  as 
was  his  wont,  concealing  his  feelings  under  a  mocking 


64 


THE  :/riEff  D'OK. 


I'-.ii 


m 


^ 


i'l"" 


%M 


gibe,  "  Varin,"  said  he,  "  Ihey  say  that  is  your  marrow  boQi 
5ie  Golden  Dog  is  gnaw'.ng,  ha !  ha  !  ha  I " 

"  More  people  believe  it  is  your  Excellency's !  "  Varin 
knew  he  was  right,  but  aware  of  Bigot's  touchiness  on  that 
point,  added,  as  is  the  wont  of  panderers  to  great  men  :  "  It 
is  either  yours  or  the  Cardinars." 

**  Let  it  be  the  Cardinal's,  then  !  He  is  still  in  purga- 
tory, and  will  wait  there  the  arrival  of  the  Bourgeois,  to  bal- 
ance accounts  with  him."        ^/il^ir   ?  '>it!tjO  ic 

Bigot  hated  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  as  one  hates  the 
man  he  has  injured.  Bigot  had  been  instrumental  in  his 
banishment  years  ago  from  France,  when  the  bold  Norman 
Count  defended  the  persecuted  Jansenists  in  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Rouen.  The  Intendant  hated  him  now  for  his 
wealth  and  prosperity  in  New  France.  But  his  wrath  turned 
to  fury  when  he  saw  the  tablet  of  the  Golden  Dog,  with  its 
taunting  insciiption,  glaring  upon  the  front  of  the  Maga- 
zine in  the  Rue  Buade.  Bigot  felt  the  full  meaning  and 
significance  of  the  words  that  burned  into  his  soul,  and 
for  which  he  hoped  one  day  to  be  revenged. 

"Confusion  to  the  whole  litter  of  the  Golden  Dog, 
and  that  is  the  party  of  the  Honnetes  gens  f "  cried  he. 
"  But  for  that  canting  savant,  who  plays  the  Governor  here, 
I  would  pull  down  the  sign  and  hang  its  master  up  in  its 
stead  to-morrow ! " 

The  company  now  grew  still  more  hilarious  and  noisy 
in  their  cups.  Few  paid  attention  to  what  the  Intendant 
was  saying.  But  De  Repentigny  heard  him  utter  the  words  : 
"  Oh,  for  men  who  dare  do  men's  deeds ! "  He  caught  the 
eye  of  De  Repentigny  and  added,  "  But  we  are  all  c'^^vards 
in  the  Grand  Company,  and  are  afraid  of  the  Bourgeois." 

The  wine  was  bubbling  in  the  brain  of  Le  Gardeur. 
He  scarcely  knew  what  the  Intendant  said,  but  he  caught 
the  last  words. 

*'  Whom  do  you  call  cowards.  Chevalier  ?  I  have  join- 
ed the  Grand  Company.  If  the  rest  are  cowards,  I  am  not  1 
I  stand  ready  to  pluck  the  perruque  off  the  head  of  any 
man  in  New  France,  and  carry  it  on  my  sword  to  the  Place 
d'Armes,  where  I  will  challenge  all  the  world  to  come  and 
take  it." 

"  Pish  !  that  is  nothing  !  give  me  man's  work.  I  want 
to  see  the  partner  in  th  j  Grand  Company  who  dare^  pull 
down  the  Golden  Dog."    -i     in  ^;r>f  .  •    '• 


.  t'lVY      rtili 


Ch  t'f 


THB  INTEND  ANT  BIGOT,  ^ 

**  I  dare  \  and  I  dare  I  "  ejclaimcd  a  dozen  voices  at 
oace  in  response  to  the  appeal  of  the  Intendant,  who  craft- 
ily meant  his  challenge  to  ensnare  only  Le  Gard«^ur. 

**  And  I  dare  \  and  I  will  too  !  if  you  wish  it,  Chevar 
Her  !  "  shouted  Le  Gardeur,  mad  with  wine  and  quite  ob- 
livious of  the  thousand  claims  of  the  father  of  his  friend 
Pierre  Philibert  upon  him. 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word,  Le  Gardeur  I  and  bind  your 
honor  to  it  in  the  presence  of  all  these  gentlemen,"  said 
Bigot  with  a  look  of  intense  satisfaction. 

"When  shall  it  be  done — to  day  ? "  Le  Gardeur  seem- 
ed ready  to  pluck  the  moon  from  the  sky  in  his  present 
state  of  ecstasy.  -  -  '  h  i  r  t  ,7;>?;? 

"  Why  no,  not  to-day  ! — not  before  the  pear  is  ripe  will 
we  pluck  ii.     Your  word  of  honor  will  keep  till  then  ?  " 

Bigot  was  in  great  glee  over  the  success  of  his  strata- 
gem to  entrap  De  Repentigny. 

"  It  will  keep  a  thousand  years  !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur, 
amid  a  fresh  outburst  of  merriment  round  the  board  which 
culminated  in  a  shameless  song,  fit  only  for  a  revel  of 
satyrs. 

The  Sieur  Cadet  lolled  lazily  in  his  chair,  his  eyes 
blinking  with  a  sleepy  leer.  "We  are  getting  stupidly 
drunk.  Bigot,"  said  he  :  "  we  want  something  new  to  rouse 
us  all  to  fresh  life.   .  Will  you  let  me  offer  a  toast  ? "        <'**» 

"  Go  on,  Cadet !  offer  what  toast  you  please.  There 
is  nothing  in  heaven,  hell,  or  upon  earth  that  I  wont  drink 
to  for  your  sake." 

"  I  want  you  to  drink  it  on  your  knees.  Bigot !  pledge 
me  that  and  fill  your  biggest  cup." 

"  We  will  drink  it  on  all  fours  if  you  like !  come,  o«t 
with  your  toast,  Cadet ;  you  are  as  long  over  it  as  Father 
Glapion's  sermch  in  Lent !  and  it  will  be  as  interesting  I 
dare  say !  " 

"  Well,  Chevalier,  the  Grand  Company,  after  toasting  all 
the  beauties  of  Quebec,  desire  to  drink  the  health  of 
fair  mistress  cf   Beaumanoir,  and  in   her  presence  to'j  I 
said^Cadet  with  owlish  gravity.  ^ 

Bigot  started,  drunk  and  reckless  as  he  was,  he  did  not 
like  his  secret  to  be  divulged.  He  wrs  angry  with  Cadet 
for  referring  to  it  in  the  presence  of  so  many  who  knew 
not  that  a  strange  lady  was  residing  at  Beaumanoir.  He 
was  too  thoroughly  a  libertine  of  the  period  to  feel  any 


I 


■li'  : 


66 


THE  CHIEN  rrOR 


li! :  y% 


f.l  i    Y: 


■!  !   ■;  ..=;fl 


motdX  compunction  for  ai  y  excess  he  committed.  He  was 
habitually  more  ready  to  glory  over  his  conquests,  than  to 
deny  or  extenuate  them.  But  in  this  case  he  had,  to  the 
surprise  of  Cadet,  been  very  reticent  and  shy  of  speaking 
of  this  lady  even  to  him 

"  They  say  she  is  a  rairricUj  <n  b'^-^uty,  Bigot !  "  contin- 
ued Cadet,  **  and  that  you  are  so  jer  lous  of  the  charms  of 
your  belle  Gabrielle,  that  you  are  .if  aid  to  show  her  to 
your  best  friend  >." 

"My  be^le  Cabrieile,  is  at  liberiy  to  go  where  she 
pleases,  Cadet !  "  Bigot  saw  the  absurdity  of  anger,  but 
he  felt  it  ?Tit  vertheless.  *'  She  chooses  not  to  leave  her 
bower,  to  look  even  on  you,  Cadt . !  I  warrant  you  she 
has  not  slept  all  aigljt,  listening  to  your  infernal  din." 

"Then,  I  hope  you  wi}i  ai'  ^  us  to  go  and  beg  pardon 
on  our  knees  for  disturbing  her  rest.  What  say  the  good 
company  ?  " 

"  Agreed,  agreed  !  "  was  the  general  response,  and  all 
pressed  the  Intendant  vociferously  to  allow  them  to  see  the 
fair  mistress  of  Beaumanoir,  about  whose  beauty  so  much 
had  been  privately  talked  among  Bigot's  intimate  asso- 
ciates. 

Varin,  however,  proposed  that  she  should  be  brought 
into  the  hall.  "  Send  her  to  us,  O  King,"  cried  he,  "  we 
are  nobles  of  Persia,  and  this  is  Shush^n  the  palace,  where 
we  carouse  according  to  the  law  of  the  Medes,  seven  days 
at  a  stretch.  Let  the  king  bring  in  Queen  Vashti,  to  show 
her  beauty  to  the  princes  and  nobles  of  his  court ! " 

Bigot,  too  full  of  wine  to  weigh  scruples,  yielded  to  the 
wish  of  his  boon  companions.  He  rose  from  his  chair 
which  in  his  absence  was  taken  by  Cadet.  "  Mind  ! "  said 
he,  "  if  I  bring  her  in,  you  shall  show  her  every  respect." 

,  "We  will  kiss  the  dust  of  h-^r  leet,"  answered  Cadet, 
"  and  consider  you  the  greatest  king  of  a  feast  in  New 
France  or  Old." 

Bigot,  without  further  parley  passed  out  of  the  hall, 
traversed  a  long  corridor  and  entered  an  anteroom  where 
he  found  Dame  Tremblay,  the  old  house-keeper,  dozing  on 
her  chair.  He  roused  "'-'-'X  up  and  bade  her  go  to  the  inner 
chamber  to  sumnor  her  .-nistress. 


fj 


■  ■*3ll 


The  house-kei  per  t  ose  in  a  moment  at  the  voice  of  tlie 
Intendant.  She  was  a  comely  dame,  with  a  ruddy  cheek, 
and  an  eye  in  her  head  that  looked   inquisitively  at  hei 


CAROLn  B  DE  ST.  CASTW,  f^ 

master,  as  she  arranged  her  cap,  and  threw  back  her  rathet 
gay  ribbons. 

"  I  want  your  mistress  up  in  the  great  hall  I  go  sum- 
mon her  at  once,"  repeated  the  Intendant. 

The  house-keeper  curtseyed,  but  pressed  her  lips  to 
gether  as  if  to  prevent  them  from  speaking  in  remon- 
strance.    She  went  at  once  on  her  ungracious  errand. 


'■.[..  .r. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CAROLINE   DE  ST.   CASTIN. 


Dame  Tremblay  entered  the  suite  of  apartments  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments,  saying,  "  that  her  lady  was  not 
there  but  had  gone  down  to  the  secret  chamber  to  be,  she 
supposed,  more  out  of  hearing  of  the  noise  which  had  dis- 
turbed her  so  much."  ,, n 

**  I  will  go  find  her  then,"  replied  the  Intendant,  "  you 
may  return  to  your  own  room,  dame  !  " 

He  walked  across  the  drawing-room  to  one  of  the  gor- 
geous panels  that  decorated  the  wall,  and  touched  a  hid- 
den spring.  A  door  flew  open,  disclosing  a  stair  heavily 
carpeted  that  led  down  to  the  huge  vaulted  foundations  of 
the  chateau. 

He  descended  the  stair  with  hasty  though  unsteady 
steps.  It  led  to  a  spacious  room,  lighted  with  a  gorgeous 
lamp  that  hung  pendant  in  silver  chains  from  the  frescoed 
ceiling.  The  walls  were  richly  tapestried  with  products  of 
the  looms  of  the  Gobelins,  representing  the  plains  of  Italy 
filled  with  sunshine  where  groves,  temples  and  colonnades 
were  pictured  in  endless  vistas  of  beauty.  The  furniture 
of  the  chamber  was  of  regal  magnificence.  Nothing  that 
luxury  could  desire,  or  art  furnish,  had  been  spared  in  its 
adornment.  On  a  sofa  lay  a  guitar,  and  beside  it  a  scarf 
and  a  dainty  glove  fit  for  the  hand  of  the  fairy  queen. 

The  Intendant  looked  eagerly  round,  as  he  entered  this 
bright  chamber  of  his  fancy,  but  saw  not  its  expected  oc- 
cupant. A  recess  in  the  deep  wall  at  the  farther  side  of  the 
room  contained  an  oratory,  with  an  altar  and  a  crucifix 
upon  it.    The  recess  was  partly  in  the  shade.    But  the 


M 


THE  CHIEN  DOR. 


I  :i, 


iv.'\:   r 


m 


eyes  of  the  Intondant  discerned  clearly  enough  the  kneel  , 
ing,  or  rather  the  prostrate  figure  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 
Her  hands  were  clasped  beneath  her  head,  v/hich  was  bow- 
ed to  the  ground.  Her  long  black  hair  lay  dishevelled 
over  her  back,  as  she  lay  in  her  white  robe  like  the  Angel 
of  Sorrow,  weeping  and  crying  from  ihe  depths  of  her 
broken  heart :  *'  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of 
the  world,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  "  She  was  so  absorbed 
in  her  grief  that  she  did  not  notice  the  entrance  of  the  In- 
tendant. 

Bigot  stood  still  for  a  moment,  stricken  with  awe  at  the 
spectacle  of  this  lovely  woman  weeping  by  herself  in  the 
secret  chamber.  A  look  of  something  like  pity  stole  into 
his  eyes,  he  called  her  by  name,  ran  to  her,  assisted  her 
to  rise,  which  she  did  slowly  turning  towards  him  that 
weeping  Madonna-like  face,  which  haunts  the  ruins  ol  , 
Beaumanoir  to  this  day. 

She  was  of  medium  stature,  slender  and  lissome,  look-  - 
ing  taller  than  she  really  was.  Her  features  were  chiselled 
with  exquisite  delicacy.  Her  hair  of  a  raven  blackness, 
and  eyes  of  that  dark  lustre  which  reappears  for  genera- 
tions in  the  descendants  of  Europeans,  who  have  mingled 
their  blood  with  that  of  the  Aborigines  of  the  forest.  The 
Indian  eye  is  preserved  as  an  heir  loom,  long  after  all 
memory  of  the  Red  stain  has  vanished  from  the  traditions 
of  the  family.  Her  complexion  was  pale,  naturally  of  a  rich 
olive,  but  now  through  sorrow  of  a  wan  and  bloodless  hue 
— still  very  beautiful  and  more  appealing  than  the  rosiest 
complexion. 

Caroline  de  St.  Castin  was  an  Acadienne,  of  ancient 
and  noble  family,  whose  head  and  founder,  the  Baron  de 
St.  Castin,  had  married  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  high 
chief  of  the  Abenaquis.  w     ■•      >■       .-MP*r    : 

Her  father's  house — one  of  the  most  considerable  in 
the  Colony,  had  been  the  resort  of  the  royal  officers,  civil 
and  military,  serving  in  Acadia.  Caroline,  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  the  noble  house,  had  been  reared  in  all  the  refine- 
ments and  luxuries  of  the  period,  as  became  her  rank  and 
position  both  in  France  and  hw  native  Province.      ''J 

In  an  evil  hour  for  he:  happiness,  this  beautiful  and  ac- 
complished girl  met  the  CL  ;valier  Bicf^i,  who  as  Chief 
Commissary  of  the  Armj,  was  one  of  the  foemost  of  the 
Royal  officers  in  Acadia. 


CAROLINE  DE  ST.  CASTIN, 


His  ready  wit  and  graceful  manners  pleased  And  flat- 
tered the  susceptible  girl,  ncf  used  to  the  seductions  of  the 
polished  courtesies  of  the  Mother  Land  of  France.  She  was 
of  a  joyous  temper,  gay,  frank  and  confiding.  Her  father, 
immersed  in  public  affairs,  left  her  much  to  herself,  nor, 
had  he  known  it,  would  he  have  disapproved  of  the  gallant 
courtesies  of  the  Chevalier  Bigot.  For  the  Baron  had  the 
soul  of  honor,  and  dreamt  every  gentleman  as  well  as  him- 
self possessed  it. 

Bigot,  to  do  him  justice,  felt  as  sincere  a  regard  for  this 
beautiful,  amiable  girl  as  his  nature  was  capable  of  enter- 
taining. In  rank  and  fortune,  she  was  moi*e  than  his 
equal  and  left  to  himself,  he  would  willingly  have  married 
her  before  he  learned  that  his  project  of  a  marriage  in 
the  Colony,  was  scouted  at  Court.  He  had  already  offer- 
ed his  love  to  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  and  won  easily  the 
gentle  heart  that  was  but  too  well  disposed  to  receive  his 
homage. 

Her  trust  went  with  her  Jove.  Earth  was  never 
so  green,  nor  air  so  sweet,  nor  skies  so  bright  and  azure,  as 
those  of  Caroline's  wooing,  on  the  shores  of  the  beautiful 
bay  of  Minas.  She  loved  this  man  with  a  passion  that  filled 
with  ecstasy  her  whole  being.  She  trusted  his  promises  as 
she  would  have  trusted  "Hood's.  She  loved  him  better  than 
she  loved  herself — better  than  ohe  loved  God,  or  God's 
law ;  aud  counted  as  a  gain  every  loss  she  suffered  for  his 
sake,  and  for  the  affection  she  bore  him. 

Af  cer  some  months  spent  in  her  charming  society,  a 
change  came  ever  Bigot.  He  received  formidable  missives 
from  his  great  patroness  at  Versailles,  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour,  who  had  other  matrimonial  designs  for  him. 
Bigot  was  too  slavish  a  courtier  to  resent  her  interference, 
nor  was  he  honest  enough  to  explain  his  position  to  his 
betrothed.  He  deferred  his  marriage.  The  exigencies  of 
the  war  called  him  away.  He  had  triumphed  over  a  fond 
confiding  woman ;  but  he  had  been  trained  among  the  dis- 
solute spirits  of  the  Regency  too  thoroughly  to  feel  more 
than  a  passing  regret  for  a  woman  whom,  probably  ho  loved 
better  than  any  other  of  the  victims  of  his  licentious  life. 

When  he  finally  left  Acadia  a  conquered  Province  in 
the  hands  of  the  English,  he  also  left  behind  him,  the 
one  tme  loving  heart  that  believed  in  his  honor,  and  still 
prayed  for  his  happiness. 


\i 


?<> 


THE  C///EN  D'OR. 


l\ 


ifc 


The  days  of  Caroline's  disillusion  soon  came  ;  she  could 
not  conceal  from  herself  that  she  had  been  basely  de- 
ceived and  abandoned  by  the  man  she  loved  so  ardently. 
She  learned  that  Bigot  had  been  elevated  to  the  high  oiBce 
of  Intendant  of  New  France,  but  felt  herself  as  utterly 
forgotten  by  him  as  the  rose  that  had  bloomed  and  wither- 
et'  in  her  garden  two  summers  ago. 

Her  father  had  been  summoned  to  France  on  the  loss 
of  the  Colony ;  and  fearing  to  face  him  on  his  return,  Car- 
oline suddenly  left  her  home,  and  sought  refuge  in  the 
forest  among  her  far-off  kindred,  the  red  Abenaquis.      . 

The  Inai ms  welcomed  her  with  joy  and  unbounded  re- 
spect, recognizing  her  right  to  their  devotion  and  obedience. 
They  put  upon  her  feet  the  mocassins  of  their  tribe,  and 
sent  her  with  a  trusty  escort  through  the  wilderness,  to 
Quebec,  where  she  hoped  to  find  the  Intendant ;  not  to  re- 
proach him  for  his  perfidy,  (her  gentle  heart  was  too  much 
subdued  for  that,)  but  to  claim  his  protection,  and  if  refused, 
to  die  at  his  door. 

It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  the  beautiful  high 
born  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  became  an  inmate  of  Beau- 
tnanoir.  She  had  passed  the  night  of  this  wild  debauch  in  a 
vigil  of  prayers,  tears  and  lamentations  over  her  sad  lot, 
and  over  the  degradation  of  Bigot  by  the  life  which  she 
now  knew  he  led.  Sometimes  her  maddened  fancy  was 
ready  to  accuse  Providence  itself  of  cruelty  and  injustice. 
Sometimes  magnifying  her  own  sin,  she  was  ready  to  think 
'A\  earthly  punishment  upon  herself  as  too  light,  and  in- 
voked death  and  judgment  as  alone  adequate  to  her  fault. 
All  nif^ht  long  she  had  knelt  before  the  altar,  asking  for 
mercy  and  forgiveness.  Sometimes  starting  to  her  feet  in 
terror,  as  a  fresh  burst  of  revelry  came  rushing  from  the 
great  Hall  above,  and  shook  the  door  of  her  secret  cham- 
ber. But  no  one  came  to  her  help,  no  one  looked  in  upon  her 
desolation.  She  deemed  herself  utterly  forgotten  and 
forsaken  of  God  and  man.  ~V  -  '  '" 

Occasionally  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  the  voice 
Ji  thti  Intendant  amid  the  drunken  uproar,  and  she  shud- 
dered at  the  infatuation  which  bound  her  very  soul  to  this 
man  ;  and  yet  when  she  questioned  her  heart,  she  knew  that 
base  as  he  was,  all  she  had  done  and  suffered  for  him,  she 
would  infallibly  do  again.  Were  her  life  to  live  over,  she 
would  repeat  the  fault  of  loving  this  false,  ungrateful  man 


CAROLIXE  OK  ST.  CASTiy, 


ft 


The  prom  se  of  nuirriage  had  been  equivalent  to  marriage 
I:,  her  trust  of  him,  and  nothing  but  death  could  now  fi- 
vorce  her  from  him. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  er.ch  seeming  an  aj^e  of  suf 
fering.  Her  feelings  were  worked  up  to  frenzy.  She  fan- 
cied she  heard  her  father's  angry  voice  calling  her  by  name, 
or  she  heard  accusing  angels  jeering  at  her  fall.  She  sank 
prostrate  at  last,  in  the  abandonment  of  despair,  calling 
upon  God  to  put  an  end  to  her  miserable  life. 

Bigot  raised  her  from  the  floor,  with  words  of  pity  and 
sympathy.  She  turned  on  hjni  a  look  of  gratitude,  which, 
had  he  been  of  stone,  he  must  have  felt  it.  But  Bigot's 
words  meant  less  than  she  fancied.  He  was  still  too  intox- 
icated to  reflect,  or  feel  shame  of  his  present  errand. 

"  Caroline  !"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  here  ?  This  is  the 
time  to  make  merry — not  to  pray  I  The  honorable  com- 
pany in  the  great  Hall  desire  to  pay  lli^ir  respects  to  the 
.lady  of  Beaumanoir — come  with  me  !  " 

He  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm  with  a  courtly  grace 
that  seldom  forsook  him,  even  in  his  worst  moments.  Caro- 
line looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  manner,  not  comprehending 
his  request.  "  Go  with  you,  Fran9ois  you  know  I  will; 
but  where?" 

"  To  the  great  Hall,"  repeated  he,  "  my  worthy  guests 
desire  to  see  you  and  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  fair  lady 
of  Beaumanoir." 

It  flashed  upon  her  mind  what  he  wanted.  Her  woman- 
ly pride  was  outraged  as  it  had  never  been  before,  she 
withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm  with  shame  and  terror 
stamped  on  every  feature. 

"  Go  up  there  !  Go  to  show  myself  to  your  guests ! " 
exclaimed  she,  with  choking  accents,  as  she  stepped  back 
a  pace  from  hnn — "  Oh,  Frangois  Bigot,  spare  me  that 
shame  and  humiliation,  I  am,  I  know,  contemptible  beyond 
human  respect,  but  still — God  help  me !  I  am  not  so  vile 
as  to  be  made  a  spectacle  of  infamy,  to  those  drunken  men, 
whom  I  hear  clamoring  for  me,  even  now." 

"  Pshaw!  You  think  too  much  of  the  proprieties,  Caro- 
line !  "  Bigot  felt  sensibly  perplexed  at  the  attitude  she  as- 
sumed. "  Why !  The  fairest  dames  of  Paris,  dressed  as 
Hebes  and  Ganymedes.  thought  it  a  fine  jest  to  wait  on  the 
Regent  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the  Cardinal  du  Bois,  in  the 
gay  days  of  the  king's  bachelorhood,  and  they  do  the  same 


THE  cniEN  iroR. 


\\  I 


'  will''' 


I 

■  "1!! : 


now  when  the  kin*;  gets  rp  ".,(\  of  his  groat  feasts  at  Choisy; 
so  come  sweet heart--co> ue  ' "  ITe  drew  her  to\^ardstne 
door. 

"  Spare  me,  Francois  I  "  Caroline  knelt  at  his  feet,  clasp> 
ing  his  hand  and  bathing'  it  in  lears  -"  Spare  me  I  "  cried 
she.  "  Oh,  would  to  God  1  had  died,  ere  you  came  to  com 
mandmetodo  what  I  cannot  and  will  not  do,  Francois  I" 
added  she,  clasjMng  hard  the  hand  of  the  Intcndant,  which 
she  fancied  relaxed  somewhat  of  its  iron  hardness. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  command  you,  Caroline  1  but  to  bear 
the  request  of  my  guests.  No,  1  do  not  even  ask  you  on  my 
account  to  go  up  to  the  great  Hall.  It  is  to  please  my 
guests  only."  Her  tears  and  heart-rending  appeal,  be- 
gan to  sober  him.  IJigot  had  not  counted  upon  such  a 
scene  as  this.  ,    ,  . 

"Oh,  thanks,  Francois,  for  that  word  1  you  did  not  come 
to  command  my  obedience  in  such  a  shameful  thing.  You 
had  some  small  regard  left  for  the  unfortunate  Caroline ; 
say  you  will  not  command  me  to  go  up  there,"  added  she, 
looking  at  him  with  eyes  of  pitiful  pleading,  such  as  no 
Italian  art  ever  portrayed  on  the  face  of  the  sorrowing 
Madonna.    .; 

"  No,"  he  replied,  impatiently.  "  It  was  not  I  proposed 
it.  It  was  Cadet.  He  is  always  a  fool  when  the  wine 
overflows,  as  I  am  too,  or  I  would  not  have  hearkened  to 
him  I  Still,  Caroline,  I  have  promised,  and  my  guests  will 
jeer  me  finely  if  I  return  without  you."  He  thought  she 
hesitated  a  moment  in  her  resolve  at  this  suggestion. 
"  Come,  for  my  sake,  Caroline  I  Do  up  that  disordered 
hair  ;  I  shall  be  proud  of  you,  my  Caroline.  There  is  not 
a  lady  \\  New  France  can  match  you  when  you  look  your- 
self, my  pretty  Caroline  !  " 

"  Francois  :  "  said  she,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  it  is  long 
since  you  flattered  me  thus  !  But  I  will  arrange  my  hair, 
for  you  alone,"  added  she,  blushing,  as  with  deft  fingers  she 
twisted  her  raven  locks  into  a  coronal  about  her  head.  "  I 
would  once  have  gone  with  you  to  the  end  of  the  world  to 
hear  you  say  you-  were  proud  of  me.  Alas  I  you  can  never 
be  proud  •  of  me  any  more,  as  in  the  old  happy  days  at 
Grand  Pr^.  Those  few  brief  days  of  love  and  joy  can 
never  return — never,  never  1  "  .  , 

Bigot  stood  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do.  The 
change  from  the  Bacchanalian  riot  in  the  great  Hall,  to 


CAROLINE  DE  ST,  CAST/N. 


n 


the  solemn  p«ithos  and  woo  of  the  secret  cha:!ther  sobered 
him  rapidly.  Even  his  obduracy  gave  way  ..  la»t.  "Car- 
oline," said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in  ni^,  'I  will  not 
urge  you  longer.  I  am  called  bad,  and  you  think  me  to ; 
but  1  am  not  brutal.  It  was  a  promise  made  over  the 
wine.  Varin,  the  drunken  beast,  calleil  you  Queen  Vashti, 
and  challenged  mc  to  show  your  beauty  lo  them ;  and  I 
swore  not  one  of  their  toasted  beauties  could  match  my 
fail   Acadienne." 

**  Did  the  Sieur  Varin  call  me  Queen  Vashti  ?  Alas  I 
he  was  a  truer  prophet  than  he  knew,"  replied  she  with 
ineffable  sadness.  "  Queen  Vashti  refused  to  obey  even 
her  king,  when  commanded  to  unveil  her  face  to  the 
drunken  nobles.  She  was  deposed,  and  another  raised  to 
her  place.     Such  may  be  my  fate,  Frangois." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go,  Caroline  t  " 

"  No — kill  me  if  you  like,  and  bear  my  dead  body  into 
the  Hall — but  living,  I  can  never  show  my  face  again  be- 
fore men — hardly  before  you,  Francois,"  added  she,  blush* 
ing,  as  she  hid  her  tearful  eyes  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well  then,  Caroline,"  replied  he,  really  admiring  her 
spirit  and  resolution,  "  they  shall  finish  their  carouse  with- 
out seeing  you.  The  wine  has  flowed  to-night  in  rivers, 
but  they  shall  swim  in  it  without  you." 

"  And  tears  have  flowed  down  here,"  said  she,  sadly— 
"  oh,  so  bitter !  May  you  never  taste  their  bitterness,  Fran- 
90is  I " 

Bigot  paced  the  chamber  with  steadier  steps  than 
he  had  entered  it.  The  fumes  were  clearing  from  his 
brain  ;  the  song  that  had  caught  the  ear  of  Colonel  Phili- 
bert,  as  he  approached  the  Chateau,  was  resounding  at 
this  moment.  As  it  ceased  Bigot  heard  the  loud  impatient 
knocking  of  Philibert  at  the  outer  door. 

"  Darling ! "  said  he,  "  lie  down  now,  and  compose 
yourself.  Fran9ois  Bigot  is  not  unmindful  of  your  sacri- 
fices for  his  sake.  I  must  return  to  my  guests,  who  are 
clamoring  for  me,  or  rather  for  you,  Caroline ! " 

He  kissed  her  cheek,  and  turned  to  leave  her,  but  she 
clung  to  his  hand  as  if  wanting  to  say  something  more 
ere  he  went.  She  trembled  visibly,  as  her  low  plaintive 
tones  struck  his  ear. 

"  Fran5ois !  if  you  would  forsake  the  companionship  of 
those  men,  and  purify  your  table  of  such  excess,  God's 


'i' 


I 


%'■-. 


II  I' 


74 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


m 


:  '    :  I 


1  i''  I 


f||: 


a- 

f**- 


blessing  would  yet  descend  upon  you,  and  the  people's  lovf 
follow  you !     It  is  in  your  power  to  be  as  good  as  you  arc 
great !     I  have  many  days  wished  to  say  this  to  you,  but 
alas,  I  feared  you  too  much.     I  do  not  fear  you  to  day,^ 
Fran9ois,  after  your  kind  words  to  me."      ^         ;  ■      ;      * 

Bigot  was  not  impenetrable  to  that  low  voice  so  full  (A 
pathos  and  love.  But  he  was  at  a  loss  what  to  reply- 
strange  influences  were  flowing  round  him,  carrying  him 
out  of  himself.  He  kissed  the  gentle  head  that  reclined 
on  his  bosom.  "  Caroline,"  said  he,  "  your  advice  is  wise 
and  good  as  yourself.  I  will  think  of  it  for  your  sake,  if 
not  for  my  own.  Adieu,  darling  !  Go  and  take  rest ;  these 
cruel  vigils  are  killing  you,  and  I  want  you  to  live  in  hope 
of  brighter  days." 

"  I  will,"  replied  she,  looking  up  with  ineffable  tender- 
ness. "  I  am  sure  I  shall  rest  after  your  kind  words,  Fran- 
cois ?  No  dew  of  Heaven  was  ever  more  refreshing  than 
the  balm  they  bring  to  my  wear  soul.  Thanks,  oh  mj' 
Francois,  for  them  ! "  She  kissed  his,  lips,  and  Bigot  left  the 
secret  chamber  a  sadder  and  for  the  moment  a  better  man 
than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

Caroline,  overcome  by  her  emotions,  threw  herself  on  a 
couch,  invoking  blessings  upon  the  head  of  the  man  by 
whom  she  had  been  so  cruelly  betrayed.  But  such  is 
woman's  heart — full  of  mere)'',  compassion  and  pardon  for 
every  wrong  when  love  pleads  for  forgiveness. 

"  Ha  !  Ha !  "  said  Cadet,  as  the  Intendant  re-entered 
the  great  Hall,  which  was  filled  with  Bacchanalian  frenzy. 
"  Ha !  Ha !  His  Excellency  has  proposed  and  been  re- 
jected !  The  fair  lady  has  a  will  of  her  own  and  won't 
obey !  why,  the  Intendant  looks  as  if  he  had  come  from 
Quintin  Corentin,  where  nobody  gets  anything  he  wants ! " 

"  Silence,  Cadet !  don't  be  a  fool ! "  replied  Bigot,  im- 
patiently, although  in  the  Intendant's  usual  mood,  nothing 
too  gross  or  too  bad  could  be  said  in  his  presence  but  he 
could  cap  it  with  something  worse.  '      "  '  ' 

"  Fool,  Bigot !  It  is  you  who  have  been  the  fool  of  a 
worn  in  I  '*  Cadet  was  privileged  to  say  anything,  and  he 
never  stinted  his  speech,  "  Confess,  your  Excellency  t 
she  is  splay  footed  as  St.  Pedauque  of  Dijon !  She  dare 
not  trip  over  our  carpet  for  fear  of  showing  her  big  feet  \  " 

Cadet's  coarse  remark  excited  the  mirth  of  the  In- 
tendant.   The  influences  of  the  great  Hall  were  more 


CAROLINE  DE  ST.  CASTIN. 


75 


pou«rful  than  those  of  the  secret  chamber.  He  replied 
curtiy,  however — "  I  have  excused  the  lady  from  coming, 
Cadet.  She  is  ill,  or  she  does  not  please  to  come— or  she 
has  a  private  fancy  of  her  own  to  nurse ;  any  reason  is 
enough  to  excuse  a  lady,  or  for  a  gentleman  to  cease  pres- 
sing her." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  muttered  Cadet,  "  the  wind  blows  fresh 
from  a  new  quarter  I  It  is  easterly,  and  betokens  a 
storm ! "  and  with  drunken  gravity  he  commenced  singing 
a  hunting  refrain  of  Louis  XIV. : —  ;  *,-.,;> 


1.-K;  A 


"  Sitot  qu'il  •  )it  sa  Chien 
II  quitte  tout  pour  ellene," 


■iv-,  '->yih;^ 


Bigot  burst  out  into  immoderate  laughter.  "  Cadet," 
said  he,  "  you  are,  when  drunk,  the  greatest  ruffian  in 
Christendom,  and  the  biggest  knave  when  sober.  Let  the 
lady  sleep  in  peace,  while  we  drink  ourselves  blind  in  her 
honor.  Bring  in  brandy,  valets  !  and  we  will  not  look  foi 
day  until  midnight  booms  on  the  old  clock  of  the  Cha- 
teau." ''/-  V 

The  loud  knocking  of  Philibert  in  the  great  Hall  rever- 
berated again  and  again  through  the  house.  Bigot  bade 
the  valets  go  see  who  disturbed  the  Chateau  in  that  bold 
style. 

"  Let  no  one  in  !  "  added  he — "  tis  against  the  rule  to 
open  the  doors  when  the  Grand  Company  are  met  for  busi- 
ness !  Take  whips,  valets  !  and  scourge  the  insolent  beg- 
gars away.  Some  miserable  habiians  I  warrant,  whining 
for  the  loss  of  their  eggs  and  bacon  taken  by  the  king's  pur- 
veyors ! " 

A  servant  returned  with  a  card  on  a  silver  salver.  *'  An 
officer  in  uniform  waits  to  see  your  Excellency  ;  he  brings 
orders  from  the  Governor,"  said  he  to  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  looked  at  the  card,  with  knitted  brows,  fire 
sparkled  in  his  eyes  as  he  read  the  name. 

"Colonel  Philibert !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  Aid-de-Camp  of 
the  Governor !  what  the  fiend  brings  him  at  such  a 
time  ?  Do  you  hear  ? "  continued  he,  turning  to  Varin. 
"  It  is  your  friend  from  Louisbourg,  who  was  going  to  put 
you  in  irons,  and  send  you  to  France  for  trial,  when  the 
mutinous  garrison  threatened  to  surrender  the  place  if  we 
did  not  pay  them." 

Varin  was  not  so  intoxicated  but  the  name  of  Philibert 


I:    'i 


76 


r//£  CniRH  D'OR. 


roused  his  anger.  He  set  his  cup  down  with  a  bang  updn 
the  table.  "  I  will  not  taste  a  drop  more  till  he  is  gone," 
said  he  ;  "  curse  Galissoni^re's  crooked  neck — could  he  not 
hare  selected  a  more  welcome  messenger  to  send  to  Beau- 
manoir  ?  But  I  have  got  his  name  in  my  list  of  debtors, 
and  he  shall  pay  up  one  day  for  his  insolence  at  Louis- 
bourg." 

"  Tut,  tut,  shut  up  your  books  ;  you  are  too  mercantile 
for  gentlemen,"  replied  Bigot.  "  The  question  is,  shall  we 
allow  Colonel  Ph'ibert  to  bring  his  orders  into  the  Hall? 
Par  Dieu  !  we  are  scarcely  presentable  !  " 

But  whether  presentable  or  no,  the  words  were  scarcely 
spoken  when,  impatient  at  the  delay,  Philibert  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  open  door  and  entered  the  great  Hall. 
He  stood  in  utter  amazement  for  a  moment  at  the  scene 
of  drunken  riot  which  he  beheld.  The  inflamed  faces,  the 
confusion  of  tongues,  the  disorder,  filth  and  stench  of  the 
prolonged  debauch  sickened  him,  while  the  sight  of  so 
many  men  of  rank  and  high  office  revelling  at  such  an 
hour,  raised  a  feeling  of  indignation  which  he  had  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  down,  while  he  delivered  his  message  to 
the  Intendant. 

Bigot,  however,  was  too  shrewd  to  be  wanting  in  polite- 
ness. "  Welcome  Colonel  Philibert,"  said  he ;  "  you  are  an 
unexpected  guest,  but  a  welcome  one !  come  and  taste  the 
hospitality  of  Beaumanoir  before  you  deliver  your  message. 
Bustle,  valets,  bring  fresh  cups  and  the  fullest  carafes  for 
Colonel  Philibert." 

"  Thanks  for  your  politeness.  Chevalier !  Your  Ex- 
cellency will  please  excuse  me  if  I  deliver  my  message  at 
once.  My  time  is  not  my  own  to-day,  so  I  will  not  sit 
down.  His  Excellency  the  Governor  desires  your  presence 
and  that  of  the  royal  Commissaries  at  the  council  of  war 
this  afternoon  despatches  have  just  arrived  by  the  Fleur 
de  Lys  from  home,  and  the  council  must  assemble  at 


» 


once. 

A  red  flush  rested  upon  the  brow  of  Philibert  as  in  his 
mind  he  measured  the  important  business  of  the  council 
with  the  fitness  of  the  men  y^hom  he  summoned  to  at- 
tend it.  He  declined  the  otfer  of  wine  and  stepped  l^ack- 
ward  from  the  table,  with  a  box  to  the  Intendant  and  the 
company  and  was  about  to  depart,  when  a  loud  voice  on 
the  further  side  of  the  table  cri  id  out : 


Si,! 


CAROLINE  DE  ST.  CAS  TIN. 


n 


"  It  is  he,  by  all  that  is  sacred !  Pierre  PhlUbert  I 
wait  I "  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  rushed  like  a  storm 
through  the  hall,  upsetting  chairs  and  guests  in  his  advance. 
He  ran  towards  Colonel  Philibert  who  not  recognizing  the 
flushed  face,  and  disordered  figure  that  greeted  him  shrank 
back  from  his  embrace.     - 1 1;  • 

"  My  God  !  do  you  not  know  me,  Pierre  ?  "  exclaimed  Le 
Gardeur,  wounded  to  the  quick  by  the  astonished  look  a£ 
his  friend.  "  I  am  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  Oh,  dear 
friend,  look  and  recognize  me  !  " 

Philbert  stood  transfixed  with  surprise  and  pain  as  if  an 
arrow  had  stricken  his  eyes.  *'  You  ?  you }  Le  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny  ?  It  is  impossible  !  Le  Gardeur  never 
looked  like  you,  much  less,  was  ever  found  among  peo- 
ple like  these ! "  The  last  words  were  rashly  spoken, 
but  f  itunately  not  heard  amid  the  hubbub  in  the  hall,  or 
Philibert's  life  might  have  paid  the  penalty  from  the  ex- 
cited guests. 

"  And  yet  it  is  true,  Pierre,  look  at  me  again.  T  am  no 
other  than  he  whom  you  drew  out  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  the 
only  brother  of  Am^lie  !  " 

Philibert  looked  hard  in  the  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur,  and 
doubted  no  longer.  He  pressed  his  old  friend  to  his  heart, 
saying  in  a  voice  full  of  pathos  : — 

'*  Oh,  Le  Gardeur  !  I  recognize  you  now,  but  under 
what  change  of  look  and  place  ^  Often  have  I  forecast 
our  meeting  ag  -.,  but  it  was  in  your  pure,  virtuous  home 
of  Tilly,  iiot  in  this  place.  What  do  you  here  Le  Gar- 
deur?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Pierre,  for  the  shame  of  meeting  me  here," 
Le  Gardeur  stood  up  like  a  new  man  in  the  glance  of  his 
friend  ;  the  shock  seemed  to  have  sobered  him  at  once. 
" '  What  do  I  here  ? '  say  you,  oh,  dear  friend !  "  said  he,  glanc- 
ing round  the  hall,  "  it  is  easier  seen  than  told  what  I  do 
here.  But  by  all  the  Saints  I  have  finished  here  for  to-day  1 
You  return  to  the  city  at  once,  Pierre  ?  " 

"  At  once,  Le  Gardeur.  The  Governor  awaits  my  re- 
turn." '  '   H^ 

"  Then  I  will  return  uith  you.  My  dear  aunt  and  sis- 
ter are  in  the  city.  News  of  their  arrival  reached  me  here, 
my  duty  was  to  return  at  once,  but  the  Intendant's  wine- 
cups  were  too  potent  for  me  ;  curse  them,  for  they  have  dis- 
graced L':e  in  your  eyes,  Pierre,  as  well  as  my  own  !  " 


'V 


78 


THE  CHIEN  EfOR/ 


'■\- 
\\ 

It 


Philibert  started  at  the  information  that  Amdlie  was  in 
the  city.  *'  Ain<^lie  in  the  city  ?  "  repeated  he  with  glad  sur- 
prise, "  I  did  not  expect  to  be  able  to  salute  her  and  the 
noble  Lady  de  Tilly  so  soon."  His  heart  bounded  in 
secret  at  the  prospect  of  again  seeing  this  fair  girl  who  had 
filled  his  thoughts  for  so  many  years,  and  been  the  se- 
cret spring  of  so  much  that  was  noble  and  manly  in  his 
character. 

"  Come,  Le  Gardeur,  let  us  take  leave  of  the  Intendant, 
and  return  at  once  to  the  city,  but  not  in  that  plight  I " 
added  he  smiling  as  Le  Gardeur,  oblivious  of  all  but  the 
pleasure  of  accompanying  him,  had  grasped  his  arm  to 
leave  the  great  Hall.  "  Not  in  thai  garb,  Le  Gardeur ! 
Bathe,  purify,  and  clean  yourself,  I  wiil  wait  outside  in  the 
fresh  air.     The  odor  of  this  room  stifles  me  !  " 

"  You  are  not  going  to  leave  us,  Le  Gardeur ! "  Varin 
called  across  the  table,  "  and  break  up  good  company  ? 
Wait  till  we  finish  a  few  more  rounds  and  we  will  all  go 
together."     ''-.'.r  xv-  -k   -a^m^    ^'^^\:■r.\.■^^^'^^  fe*./  ;;::rr  hi  A  " 

"  I  have  finished  all  the  rounds  for  to-day,  Varin,  may 
be  for  ever  !  Colonel  Philibert  is  my  dearest  friend  in  life, 
I  must  leave  even  you  to  go  with  him,  so  pray  excuse  me." 

"  You  are  excused,  Le  Gardeur."  Bigot  spoke  very 
courteously  to  him,  much  as  he  disliked  the  idea  of  his 
companionship  with  Philibert.  "  We  must  all  return  by 
the  time  the  Cathedral  bells  chime  noon.  Take  one  part- 
ing cup  before  you  go  Le  Gardeur,  and  prevail  on  Colonel 
Philibert  to  do  the  same,  or  he  will  not  praise  our  hospi- 
tality, I  fear." 

"  Not  one  drop  more  this  day,  were  it  from  Jove's  own 
poculum."  Le  Gardeur  repelled  the  temptation  more  readily 
as  he  felt  a  twitch  on  his  sleeve  from  the  hand  of  Philibert. 

"  Well,  as  you  will,  Le  Gardeur,  we  have  all  had  enough 
and  over  I  dare  say,  ha  !  ha  !  Colonel  Pmlibert  ther  puts 
us  to  the  blush,  or  would  do,  were  not  our  cheeks  so  well 
painted  in  the  hues  of  rosy  Bacchus." 

Philibert.  with  official  courtesy,  bade  adieu  to  the  Inten- 
dant  and  the  company.  A  couple  of  valets  waited  upon 
Le  Gardeur,  whom  they  ass'sted  to  bathe  and  dress.  In 
a  short  time  he  left  the  Chateau  almost  sobered  and  wholly 
metamorphosed  into  a  handsome  fresh  Chevalier,  A  per- 
verse redness  about  the  eyes  alone  remained  to  tell  the  tale 
of  the  last  night's  debauch. 


V. 


CAROL/iVE  DE  ST,  CASTJN. 


79 


Master  Pothier  sat  on  a  horse-block  at  the  door  with 
all  the  gravity  of  a  judge,  while  he  waited  for  the  return  of 
Colonel  Philibert  and  listened  to  the  lively  noise  in  the 
Chateau,  the  music,  song,  and  jingle  of  glass  forming  a 
bweet  concert  in  the  ears  of  the  jolly  old  notary. 

"  I  shall  not  neod  you  to  guide  me  back,  Master  Potll- 
le;,"  said  Philibert;,  as  he  put  some  silver  pieces  in  his 
hollow  palm,  "  take  your  fee.  The  cause  is  gained,  is  it 
i.ot,  Le  Gardeur?"  He  glanced  triumphantly  it  his 
friend. 

"  Good-bye,  Master  Pothier,"  said  he  as  he  rode  off  with 
Le  Gardeur.  The  old  notary  could  not  keep  up  with  them 
but  came  jolting  on  behind,  well  pleased  to  have  leisure  to 
count  and  jingle  his  coins.  Master  Pothier  was  in  that 
state  of  joyful  anticipation,  when  hope  outruns  realization. 
He  already  saw  himself  seated  in  the  old  arm-chair  in  the 
snug  parlor  of  Dame  Bedard's  inn,  his  back  to  the  fire, 
his  belly  to  the  table,  a  smoking  dish  of  roast  in  the  mid- 
dle, an  ample  trencher  before  him  with  a  bottle  of  Cognac 
on  one  flank,  and  a  jug  of  Norman  c'der  on  the  other,  an 
old  crony  or  two  to  eat  and  drink  with  him,  and  the  light 
foct  and  deft  hand  of  pretty  Zoe Bddard  to  wait  upon  them. 

This  picture  of  perfect  bliss  floated  before  the  winking 
eyes  of  Master  Pothier,  and  his  mouth  watered  in  anticipa- 
tion of  his  Eden,  not  of  flowers  and  trees,  but  of  tables, 
cups,  and  platters,  with  plenty  to  fill  them,  and  to  empty 
them  as  well. 

"  A  worthy  gentleman  and  a  brave  officer,  I  warrant !  *' 
said  Pothier  as  he  jogged  along.  "  He  is  generous  as  a 
prince,  and  considerate  as  a  bishop,  fit  for  a  judge,  nay,  for 
a  chief  justice !  What  would  you  do  for  him,  Master 
Pothier  ? "  the  old  notary  asked  himself.  "  I  answer  the 
interrogatory  of  the  Court !  I  would  draw  up  his  marriage 
contract,  write  his  last  will  and  testament  with  the  greatest 
of  pleasure  and  without  a  fee  !  And  no  notary  in  New  France 
could  do  more  for  him  !  "  Pcthier's  imagination  fell  into  a 
vision  over  a  consideration  of  his  favorite  text,  that  of  the 
great  sheet,  wherein  was  all  manner  of  flesh  and  fowl  good 
for  food,  but  the  tongue  of  the  old  notary  would  trip  at  the 
name  of  Peter,  and  peiversely  say  "  rise,  Pothier,  kill  and 
eat." 


iW'  '':'ylmt. 


,.,«rf- 


CHAPTER  IX. 


'm" 


PIERRE     PHI  LIBERT 


f,*» 


m 


J'fS\ 


".  =%«' 


Colonel  Philibert  and  Le  Gardeur  rode  rapidly 
through  the  forest  of  Beaumanoir,  pulling  up  occasionally  in 
an  eager  and  sympathetic  exchange  of  questions  and  replies, 
as  they  recounted  the  events  of  their  lives  since  their 
separation,  or  recalled  their  school  days  and  glorious  holi- 
days and  rambles  in  the  woods  of  Tilly — with  frequent 
mention  of  their  gentle,  fair  companion,  Amdlie  De  Repen- 
tigny,  whose  name  on  the  lips  of  her  brother  sounded 
sweeter  than  the  chime  of  the  bells  of  Charlebourg  to  the 
ear  of  Pierre  Philibert.  .,  ^  *         : 

The  bravest  rnan  in  New  France  felt  a  tremor  in  his 
breast  as  he  asked  Le  Gardeur  a  seemingly  careless  ques 
tion — seemingly,  for,  in  truth,  it  was  vital  in  the  last  degree 
-to  his  happiness,  und  he  knew  it.  He  expressed  a  fear 
that  Amdlie  would  have  wholly  forgotten  him  after  so  long 
an  absence  from  New  France.  ' 

His  heart  almost  ceased  beating  as  he  waited  the  reply 
of  Le  Gardeur,  which  came  impetuously :  "  Forgotten  you, 
Pierre  Philibert.?  She  would  forget  me  as  soon  !  But  for 
you  she  would  have  had  no  brother  to-day,  and  in  her 
prayers  she  ever  remembers  both  of  us ;  you  by  right  of  a 
sister's  gratitude,  me  because  I  am  unworthy  of  her  saintly 
prayers,  and  need  them  all  the  more  !  Oh !  Pierre  Phili- 
bert, you  do  not  know  Am^lie  if  you  think  she  is  one  ever 
to  forget  a  friend  like  yor  !  " 

The  hc'trt  of  Philibert  gave  a  great  leap  for  joy.  Too 
happy  for  speech,  he  rode  on  a  while  in  silence. 

"  Am^lie  will  have  changed  much  in  appearance  ? "  he 
asked  at  last.  A  thousand  questions  were  crowding  upon 
his  lips.  : 

**  Changed  ?  O,  yes !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur  gaily.  "  I 
scarcely  recognize  my  little  bright-eyed  sister  in  the  tall, 
perfect  young  lady  that  has  taken  her  place.  But  the 
loving  heart,  the  pure  mind,  the  gentle  ways,  and  winning 
smiles  are  the  same  as  ever.     She  is  somewhat  naore  still 


PIERRE  PHI  LI  BERT. 


8t 


md  thoughtful,  perhaps — more  strict  in  the  observances 
of  religion  ;  you  will  remember,  I  used  to  call  her  ia 
jest  our  St.  Am^lic — I  might  call  her  that  :n  earnest  now, 
Pierre,  and  she  would  be  worthy  of  the  name !  " 

"  God  bless  yo  i,  Le  Gardeur !  "  burst  out  Colonel 
Philibert — his  voice  could  not  repress  the  emotion  he  felt 
— "  and  God  bless  Amdlie !  Think  you  she  would  care 
to  see  me  to-day,  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  Philibert's  thoughts  flew 
far  and  fast,  and  his  desire  to  know  more  of  Amelie  was  a 
rack  of  suspense  to  him.  She  might,  indeed,  recollect  the 
youth,  Pierre  Philibert,  thought  he,  as  she  did  a  sunbeam 
that  gladdened  long  past  summers ;  but  how  could  he 
expect  her  to  regard  him — the  full-grown  man — as  the 
same?  Nay,  was  he  not  nursing  a  fatal  fancy  in  his  breast 
that  would  sting  him  to  death  ?  for  among  the  gay 
and  gallant  throng  about  the  capital  was  it  not  more 
than  possible — that  so  lovely  and  amiable  a  woman  had 
already  been  wooed,  and  given  the  priceless  treasure  of 
her  love  to  another  ?  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  common 
feeling  that  Philibert  said,  "Think  you  she  will  care  to  see 
me  to-day,  Le  Gardeur  ? " 

"  Care  to  see  you,  Pierre  Philibert  ?  What  a  ques- 
tion 1  She  and  Aunt  De  Tilly  take  every  occasion  to 
remind  me  of  you,  by  way  of  example,  to  shame  me  of  my 
faults — and  they  succeed,  too  I  I  could  cut  off  my  right 
hand  this  moment,  Pierre,  that  it  should  never  lift  wine 
again  to  my  lips ;  and  to  have  been  seen  by  you  in  such 
company  !     What  must  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  your  regret  could  not  surpass  mint.  But  tell 
me  how  you  have  been  drawn  into  these  rapids,  and  taken 
the  wrong  turn,  Le  Gardeur.?"  -      ..   --    .>^^.. 

Le  Gardeur  winced  as  he  replied,  "  Oh,  I  do  not  know. 
I  found  myself  there  before  I  thought.  It  was  the  wit, 
wine  and  enchantments  of  Bigot,  I  suppose,  and  the 
greatest  temptation  of  all — a  woman's  smiles — that  led  me 
to  take  the  wrong  turn,  as  you  call  it.  There — ^you  have 
my  confession  1 — and  I  would  put  my  sword  through  any 
man  but  you,  Pierre,  who  dared  ask  me  to  give  such  an 
account  of  myself.  [  am  ashamed  of  it  all  Pierie  Phili- 
bert, ! ' 

"  Thanks,  Le  Gardeur,  for  your  confidence.  I  hope 
you  will  outride  this  storm  ! "  He  held  out  his  hand, 
nervous  and  sinewy  as  that  of  Mars.     Le  Gardeur  seized 


9a 


THE  CiJlEN  D'OR. 


it  and  pressed  it  hard  in  his.     "  Don't  you  think  it  is  still 
able  to  rescue  a  friend  from  peril  ?  "  added  Philibert  sinil- 

ipg.      '        "  ' 

Le  Gardeur  caught  his  meaning,  and  gave  him  a  look 
of  unutterable  gratitude.  "  Beside  this  hand  of  mine  arc 
there  iiot  the  gentler  hands  of  Am^lie  to  intercede  for  you 
with  your  better  self,"  said  Philibert. 

"  My  dear  sister ! "  interjected  Le  Gardeur.  "  I  am  a 
coward  when  I  think  of  her,  and  I  shame  to  come  into  her 
pUiO  presence."  ;       . „,;  ,     .'      .  ..i j^  y  if..'  ^ 

"  Take  courage,  Le  Gardeur !  There  is  hope  where 
there  is  shame  of  our  faults.  Be  equally  frank  with  your 
sister  as  with  me,  and  she  will  win  you  in  spite  of  your- 
self from  the  enchantments  of  Bigot,  Cadet,  and  the  still 
more  potent  smiles  you  speak  of  that  led  you  to  take  tl'S 
wrong  turn  in  life."  '.  ^         <,       .» 

"  I  doubt  it  is  too  late,  Pierre !  although  I  kno\  that, 
were  every  other  friend  in  the  world  lo  forsake  me,  Amelie 
would  not !  She  would  not  even  reproach  me,  except  by 
excess  of  affection." 

Philibert  looked  on  his  friend  admiringly,  at  this  pane- 
gyric of  the  woman  he  loved.  Le  Gardeur  was  in  feature 
so  like  his  sister  that  Philiberic  at  the  moment  caught  the 
very. face  of  Amelie,  as  it  were,  looking  at  him  through  the 
face  of  her  brother.  "  You  will  not  resist  her  pleadings, 
Le  Gardeur." — Philibert  thought  it  an  impossible  thing. 
**  No  guardian  ani^el  ever  clung  to  the  skirts  of  a  sinner  as 
Vmelie  will  cling  to  you,"  said  he  ;  "  therefore  I  have 
every  hope  of  my  dear  friend  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny." 

The  two  riders  emerged  from  the  forest  and  drew  up 
for  a  minute  in  front  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Crown  of 
France,  to  water  their  horses  at  the  long  trough  before  the 
door,  and  inform  Dame  Bedard,  who  ran  out  to  greet 
them,  that  Master  Pothier  was  following  with  his  ambling 
nag  at  a  gentle  pace,  as  befitted  the  gravity  of  his  pro- 
fession. .:-     ,.f    ^  /  ^ 

"  O  !  Master  Pothier  never  fails  to  find  his  way  to  the 
Crown  of  France  ;  but  won't  your  honors  take  a  cup  of 
wine  ?  The  day  is  hot  and  the  road  dusty.  '  A  dry  rider 
makes  a  wet  nag,' "  added  the  Dame,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
repeated  an  old  saying,  bro  ight  over  with  the  rest  of  the 
huiin  in  the  ships  of  Cartier  and  Champlain. 

The  gentlemen  bowed  their  thanks,  and  as  Philibert 


.Of 


PIERRE  PHIUBBRT. 


•) 


looked  up,  he  saw  pretty  Zoe  B<5dard  poring  over  a  sheet  ot 
paper  Hec.Ing  a  red  seal,  and  spelling  out  the  crabbed  law 
text  of  Master  Pothier.  Zoe,  like  other  girls  of  her  class, 
had  received  a  tincture  of  learning  in  the  day  schools  of 
the  nuns  ;  but,  although  the  paper  was  her  marriage  con« 
tract,  it  puzzled  her  greatly  to  pick  out  the  few  c*iips  of 
plain  sense  that  floated  in  the  sea  of  legal  verbiage  it  con- 
tained. Zoe,  with  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  claims 
of  tntum  and  tuum^  was  at  no  loss,  however,  in  arriving  at 
a  satisfactory  solution  of  the  true  merits  of  her  matrimonial 
contract  with  honest  Jean  La  Chance. 

She  Ciiught  the  eye  of  Philibert,  and  blushed  to  the 
very  chin  as  she  huddled  away  the  paper  and  returned 
the  salute  of  the  two  handsome  gentlemen,  who,  having 
retresiied  their  horses,  rode  off  at  a  rapid  trot  down  the 
great  highway  that  led  to  the  city.  ^i* 

Babet  Le  Nocher,  in  a  new  gown,  short  enough  to 
leveal  a  pair  of  shapely  ankles  in  clocked  stockings,  and 
well  clad  feet,  that  would  have  been  the  envy  of  many  a 
Duchess,  sat  on  the  thwart  of  the  boat  knitting.  Her 
black  hair  was  in  the  fashion  recorded  by  the  grave  Peter 
Kalm,  who,  in  his  account  of  New  France,  says,  "  The 
peasant  women  all  wear  their  hair  in  ringlets,  and  nice  they 
look:!"  '  •  -- 

"  As  I  live  !  "•  exclaimed  she  to  Jean,  who  was  enjoying 
a  pipe  of  native  tobacco,  "  here  comes  that  handsome 
officer  b?ck  again,  and  in  as  great  a  hurry  to  return  as  he 
was  to  go  up  the  highway !  " 

"  Ayj,  aye,  Babet !  It  is  plain  to  see  he  is  either  on 
the  Kinp^'s  errand  or  his  own.  A  fair  lady  awaits  his 
return  in  the  city,  or  one  has  just  dismissed  him  where  he 
has  been  !  Nothing  like  a  woman  to  put  quicksilver  in  a 
man's  shoes — eh  I  Babet?!' 

"  Or  Iv^olish  thoughts  into  their  hearts,  Jean  1 "  replied 
she,  laughing.  ^  -^-^ 

''''  And  nothing  more  natural,  Babet,  if  women's  hearts 
are  wise  e  lough  in  their  folly  to  like  our  foolish  thoughts 
of  them.  But  there  are  two !  Who  is  that  riding  with  the 
gentleman  ?     Your  eyes  are  better  than  mine,  Babet !  " 

"  Of  course,  Jean  1  that  is  what  I  always  tell  you,  but 
you  won't  believe  me — trust  my  eyes,  and  doubt  your  own  1 
The  oth*  r  gentleman,"  said  she,  looking  fixedly,  while  hel 
knii*i  ^  lay   still     n    her  lap,  ''  the  other    is   the  young 


I  ; 


THE  CHI  EN  lyOR. 


% 


WM 


Chevalier  de  Rcpentigny.     What  t(;ig3  him  back  before 
the  rest  of  th(;  hunting  party,  I  won<!  :r?  " 

"  Tliat  otiicer  must  have  been  to  Beaumanoir,  and  19 
bringing  tl<e  young  Seigneur  back  lo  town, '  remarked 
Jean,  putfing  out  a  iuDp;  'bread  of  smoke  from  his  lips. 

"  Well,  it  must  be  something  better  than  smoke,  Jean  1 " 
— Babet  coughed  ,  she  never  liked  the  pipe. — "The  y.jung 
Chevalier  is  always  one  of  the  last  to  give  up  when  they 
have  one  of  their  three-days  drinking  bouts  up  al  the 
Chateau.  lie  is  going  to  the  bad,  1  fear — Mior<i'3  the  pity  I 
Such  a  nice,  liandsome  fellow,  too  !  " 

"  All  lies  and  calumny !  "  replied  Jem,  in  a  ht  at, 
"  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  is  the  son  )f  my  dear  old 
Seigneur.  He  may  get  drunk,  but  it  will  be  like  a  gentle- 
man if  he  does,  and  not  like  a  carter,  Babet,  or  like  a — " 

"  Boatman  I  Jean  ;  but  I  don't  include  you — ^you  have 
never  been  the  worse  for  drinking  water  since  I  took  care 
of  your  liquor,  Jean  1  " 

"  Aye,  you  are  intoxication  enough  of  yourself  for  me, 
Babet.  Two  bright  eyes  like  yours,  a  i)ipe  and  bitters, 
with  grace  before  meat,  would  save  any  Christian  man  in 
this  world."  Jean  stood  up  politely  doffing  his  red  tuque 
to  the  gentlemen.  Le  Gardeur  stooped  from  his  horse  to 
grasp  his  hand,  for  Jean  had  been  an  old  servitor  at  Tilly, 
and  the  young  Seigneur  was  too  noble-minded  and  polite 
to  omit  a  kindly  notice  of  even  the  humblest  of  his  ac- 
quaintance. 

'■'  Had  a  busy  day,  Jean,  with  the  old  ferry  ? "  asked  Le 
Gardeur  cheerily.  -." .    ' -^.-.f:!    •»  r 

"  No,  your  honor,  but  yesterday  I  think  half  the  country 
side  crossed  over  to  the  city  on  the  King's  Corvee.  The 
men  went  to  work,  and  the  women  followed  to  look  after 
them,  ha !  ha  1"  •  Jean  winked  provokingly  at  Babet,  who 
took  him  up  sharply. 

"  And  why  should  not  the  women  go  after  the  men  ? 
I  trow  men  are  not  so  plentiful  in  New  France  as  they  used 
to  be  before  this  weary  war  began.  It  well  behoves  the 
women  to  take  good  care  of  all  that  are  left." 

"  That  is  true  as  the  Sunday  sermon,"  remarked  Jean. 
**  WLy,  it  was  only  the  other  day  I  beard  that  great  foreign 
gentleman,  who  is  the  guest  of  his  Excellency  the  Governor, 
say,  sitting  in  this  very  boat,  *  that  there  are  at  this  time 
four  women  to  every  man  in  New  France  ! '    If  that  is  true; 


4  i;,l 


|kl;;i' 


P/SKJfS  PHIUBERT. 


«$ 


Babct — and  you  know  l>e  said  it,  for  you  were  angry  euough 
— a  man  is  a  prize  indeed,  in  New  France,  and  women  are 
plenty  as  eggs  at  Easter  !  "  •  ^      . 

"The  foreign  gentleman  had  much  assurance  to  say  it 
even  if  it  were  true.  He  were  nujch  better  employed 
picking  up  weeds  and  putting  them  in  his  book  !  "  exclaim> 
cd  Babet,  hotly. 

"  Come  !  come  !  "  cried  Le  Gaideur,  interrupting  this 
debate  en  the  population — "  Providence  knows  the  worth 
of  Canadian  women,  and  cannot  give  us  too  w  of  them. 
We  '  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  city,  Jean,  so  t^.t  ul  embark. 

My  ""d  Amt^he  are  in  the  old  homr  u.  i^      „ity,  they 

will  )  see  you  and  Babet,"  added  he  kindly  as  he 

got  1.  >oat. 

BabeL  ci  opped  her  neater/t  courtesy,  and  Jean,  all  alive 
to  his  duty,  pushed  off  his  boat  bearing  the  two  gentlemen 
and  their  horses,  across  the  broad  St.  Charles,  to  the  King's 
Quay,  where  they  remounted,  and  riding  past  the  huge  pal- 
ace of  the  Intendant,  dashed  up  the  steep  Cbte  au  Chien  and 
through  the  City  gate,  disappearing  from  the  eyes  of  Babet, 
who  looked  very  admiringly  after  them.  Her  thoughts  were 
especially  commendatory  of  the  handsome  officer  in  full 
uniform, who  had  been  so  polite  and  generousin  the  morning. 

"  I  was  afraid,  Jean,  you  were  going  to  blurt  out  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,"  remarked  Babet  to  Jean  on 
his  return — "  men  are -so  indiscreet  always." 

"  Leaky  boats  !  leaky  boats  !  Babet  I  no  rowing  them 
with  a  woman  aboard  !  sure  to  run  on  the  bank.  But  what 
about  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  ? "  Honest  Jean  had 
passed  her  over  the  ferry  an  hour  ago,  and  been  sorely 
tempted  to  inform  Le  Gardeur  of  the  interesting  fact. 

"What  about  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises?"  Babet 
spoke  rather  sharply — "why,  all  Quebec  knows  that  the 
Seigneur  de  Rep2ntigny  is  mad  in  love  with  her." 

"  And  why  should  he  not  be  mad  in  love  with  her  if  he 
likes  ? "  replied  Jean — "  She  is  a  morsel  fit  for  a  king,  and 
if  Le  Gardeur  should  lose  both  his  heart  and  his  wits  on 
her  account,  it  is  only  what  half  the  gallants  of  Quebec 
have  done.^' 

"  Oh,  Jean,  Jean  !  it  is  plain  to  see  you  have  an  eye  in 
your  head,  as  well  as  a  soft  place  I "  ejaculated  Babet,  recom- 
mencing her  knitting  with  fresh  vigor,  and  working  off  the 
electricity  that  was  stirring  in  her.  v-i   •';>?■. '2 


*;'. 
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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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- '  '^  I  had  two  eyes  in  my  head  when  I  chose  you,  Babet* 
and  the  soft  place  was  in  my  heart !  "  replied  Jean  heartily. 
The  compliment  was  taken  with  a  smile,  as  it  deserved  t» 
be.  "  Look  you,  Babet,  I  would  not  give  this  pinch  of  snuff,'* 
said  Jean,  raising  his  thumb  and  two  fingers  holding  a  eood 
dose  of  the  pungent  dust — "  I  would  not  give  this  pinch  oi 
snuff  for  any  young  fellow,  who  could  be  indifferent  to  the 
charms  of  such  a  pretty  lass  as  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  1  ' 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  did  not  tell  the  Seigneur  de  Re- 
pentigny,  that  she  had  crossed  the  ferry  and  gone — not 
to  look  for  him,  I'll  be  bound !  I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing by  and  by,  Jean !  if  you  will  come  in  and  eat  your 
dinner,  I  have  something  you  like." 

"What  is  it,  Babet  ? "    Jean  was  after  all  more  curious  ^ 
about  his  dinner  than  about  the  fair  lady. 

"Oh,  something  you  like, — that  is  a  wife's  secret,  keep  '?  t 
the  stomach  of  a  man  warm  and  his  heart  will  never  grow  ^^  | 
cold, — ^what  say  you  to  fried  eels  ?  " 

"  Bravo ! "  cried  the  gay  old  boatman,  as  he  sang : 


:-ilA„ 


<*AhI  aht  aht  frit^Iliuile. 
Frit  au  beurre  et  4  I'ognon  I" 


'%}m^' 


"■j-»f.. 


and  the  jolly  couple  danced  into  their  little  cottage— no 
king  and  queen  in  Christendom  half  so  happy  as  they. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AMELIE  DE  REPENTIGNY. 


The  town  house  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  stood  on  the  upper  ■:' 
part  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  a  broad  roughly  paved  square. 
The  Ch&teau  of  St.  Louis,  with  its  massive  buildings  and 
high  peaked  roofs  filled  one  side  of  the  squai;e.  On  the 
other  side,  embowered  in  ancient  trees  that  had  escaped 
the  axe  of  Champlain's  hardy  followers,  stood  the  old  fash- 
ioned monastery  of  the  Recollets  with  its  high  belfry,  and 
broad  shady  porch,  where  the  monks  in  grey  gowns  and 
sandals  sat  in  summer,  reading  their  breviaries  or  exchang* 
ing  salutations  with  the  passers  by,  who  always  had  a  kind 
greeting  for  the  brothers  of  St.  Francis. 


IK:: 


AMELIE  l)£  HEPMATICA  Y.  || 

The  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  of  stone,  spaciom 
and  ornate,  as  became  the  rank  and  wealth  of  the  Seigneurs 
de  Tilly.  It  overlooked  the  Place  d'Armes,  and  the  noble 
gardens  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  with  a  magnificent 
sweep  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  flowing  majestically  under  the 
fortress-crowned  cape,  upon  the  high  wooded  hills  of  Lau* 
zon,  the  farther  side  of  the  river  closing  the  view. 

In  the  recess  of  an  ornate  mullioned  window,  half  con 
cealed  by  the  rich  heavy  curtains  of  a  noble  room,  Am^lie 
de  Repentigny  sat  alone  ;  very  quiet  in  look  and  demeanor, 
but  no  little  agitated  in  mind,  as  might  be  noticed  in  the 
nervous  contact  of  her  hands,  which  lay  in  her  lap  clasping 
each  other  very  hard,  as  if  trying  to  steady  her  thoughts. 

Her  aunt  was  receiving  some  lady  visitors  in  the 
great  drawing-room.  The  hum  of  loud  feminine  voices 
reached  the  ear  of  Am^lie,  but  she  ^paid  no  atten- 
tion, so  absorbed  was  she  in  the  new  and  strange 
thoughts  that  bad  stirred  in  her  mind  since  morning,  when 
she  had  learned  from  the  Chevalier  La  Come  of  the  return 
to  New  France  of  Pierre  Philibert.  The  news  had  sur- 
prised her  to  a  degree  she  could  not  account  for.  Her  first 
thought  was,  how  fortunate  for  her  brother  that  Pierre  had 
returned;  her  second,  how  agreeable  to  herself.  Why? 
She  could  not  think  why.  She  wilfully  drew  an  inference 
away  from  the  truth  that  lay  in  her  heart.  It  was  wholly 
for  sake  of  her  brother  she  rejoiced  in  the  return  of  his 
friend  and  preserver.  Her  heart  beat  a  little  faster  than 
usual,  that  was  the  result  of  her  long  walk  and  disappoint- 
ment at  not  meeting  Le  Gardeur  on  her  arrival  yesterday. 
But  she  feared  to  explore  her  thoughts — a  rigid  self  exam- 
ination might  discover  what  she  instinctively  felt  was  deeply 
concealed  there. 

A  subtle  indefinable  prevision  had  suggested  to  her  that 
Colonel  Philibert  would  not  have  failed  to  meet  Le  Gardeur 
at  Beaumanoir,  and  that  he  would  undoubtedly  accompany 
her  brother  on  his  return  and  call  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
Lady  de  Tilly,  and — to  herself.  She  felt  her  cheek  glow 
at  the  thought,  yet  was  half  vexed  at  her  own  foolish  fancy^ 
as  she  called  it.  She  tried  to  call  upon  her  pride,  but 
that  came  very  laggardly  to  the  relief  of  her  discomposure. 

Her  interview  too  with  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  had 
caused  her  no  little  disquiet.  The  boM  avowals  of  Ang^ 
lique  with  reference  to  the  Intendant  h.h'\  shocked  Am^lie. 


h 


,* 


ss 


HIE  Cl/IEN  D'OR. 


f-  111 


'■■''■''I, 


She  knew  that  her  brother  had  given  more  of  his  thoughti 
to  this  beautiful,  reckless  girl  than  was  good  for  his  peace, 
should  her  amb.tion  ever  run  counter  to  his  love. 

The  fond  •''ster  sighed  deeply  when  she  reflected  that 
the  woman  who  had  power  to  make  prize  of  Le  Gardeur's 
love,  was  not  worthy  of  him. 

It  is  no  rare  thing  for  loving  sisters,  who  have  to  resign 
their  brothers  to  others*  keeping,  to  think  so.  But  Amd- 
lie  knew  that  Angt^lique  des  Meloises,  was  incapable  of 
that  true  love,  which  only  finds  its  own  in  the  happiness 
of  another.  She  was  vain,  selfish,  ambitious,  and  what 
Amdlie  did  not  yet  know,  possessed  of  neither  scruple  nor 
delicacy  in  attaining  her  objects. 

It  had  chimed  the  hour  of  noon  upon  the  old  clock  of 
the  Recollets,  and  Amelie  still  sat  looking  wistfully  over 
the  great  square  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  and  curiously  scan- 
ning every  horseman  that  rode  across  it.  A  throng  of 
people  -moved  about  the  square,  or  passed  in  and  out  of 
the  great  arched  gate-way  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis.  A 
bright  shield,  bearing  the  crown  zxi^fleur  de  iys,  surmount- 
ed the  gate,  and  under  it  walked,  with  military  pace,  a 
couple  of  sentries,  their  muskets  and  bayonets  flashing  out 
in  the  sun  every  time  they  wheeled  to  return  on  their  beat. 
Occasionally  there  was  a  ruffle  of  drums  ;  the  whole  guard 
turned  out  and  presented  arms,  as  some  officer  of  high 
rank,  or  ecclesi-  'cal  dignitary,  passed  through  to  pay  their 
respects  to  the  /ernor,  or  transact  business  at  the  vice- 
regal court.  Gentlemen  on  foot,  with  chapeaux  and  swords, 
carrying  a  cloak  on  their  shoulders ;  ladies  in  visiting 
dress ;  habitans  and  their  wives  in  unchanging  costume ; 
soldiers  in  uniform,  and  black  gowned  clergy,  mingled  in  a 
moving  picture  of  city  life,  which,  had  not  Amdlie's 
thoughts  been  so  pre-occupied  to-day,  would  have  afforded 
her  great  delight  to  look  out  upon. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  had  rather  wearied  of  the  visit  of 
the  two  ladieS'  of  the  city,  Madame  de  Grandmaison,  and 
Madame  Couillard,  who  had  bored  her  with  all  the  current 
eo3sip  of  the  da}*.  They  were  rich  and  fashionable,  per- 
fisc*  »r*  etiquette,  ;:ostume,  and  most  particular  in  their  soci- 
ety But  the  rank  and  position  of  the  noble  Lady  de 
Tilly  made  her  friendship  most  desirable,  as  it  conferred 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world  a  patent  of  gentility,  which  hel(J 
good  against  every  pretension  to  overtop  it.  '' "  "  *"  ""^^^ 


AtltUS  DE  REPBKTlGlfY. 


89 


The  stream  of  city  talk,  from  the  lips  of  the  two  ladies, 
had  the  merit  of  being  perfect  of  its  kind.  Softly  insinu- 
ating, and  sweetly  censorious,  superlative  in  eulogy,  and  in- 
fallible in  opinion.  The  good  visitors  most  conscientious- 
ly discharged  what  they  deemed  a  great  moral  and  social 
duty,  by  enlightening  the  Lady  de  Tilly  on  all  the  recent 
lapses,  and  secrets  of  the  capital.  They  slid  over  slippery 
topics  like  skaters  on  thin  ice,  filling  their  listener  with 
anxiety  lest  they  should  break  through.  But  Madame  de 
Grandmaison  and  her  companion  were  too  well  exercised 
in  the  gymnastics  of  gossip,  to  overbalance  themselves. 
Half  Quebec  was  run  over,  and  run  down  in  the  course 
of  an  hour. 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  with  growing  impatience  to  their 
frivolities,  but  she  knew  society  too  well  to  quarrel  with  its 
follies  when  it  was  of  no  service  to  do  so.  She  contented 
herself  with  hoping  it  was  not  so  bad.  The  Pope  was  not 
Catholic  enough  to  suit  some  people  ;  but  for  her  part,  she 
had  generally  found  people  better  than  they  were  called. 

A  rather  loud,  but  well  bred  exclamation  of  Madame 
de  Grandmaison,  roused  Am^lie  from  her  day  dream. 

"Not  going  to  the  Intendant's  ball  at  the  Palace  1 
My  Lady  de  Tilly !  neither  you  nor  Mademoiselle  de  Re- 
pentigny,  whom  we  are  so  sorry  not  to  have  seen  to-day  ? 
Why,  it  is  to  be  the  most  magnificent  affair  ever  got  up  in 
New  France.  All  Quebec  has  rung  with  nothing  else  for 
a  fortnight,  and  every  milliner  and  modiste  in  the  city 
has  gone  almost  insane  over  the  superlative  costumes  to  be 
worn  there.'*  ^^ ir  1  =^  ,«i  k 

"  And  it  is  to  be  the  most  select  in  its  character,"  chimed 
in  Madame  Couillard ;  "  all  gentry  and  noblesse,  not  one  of 
the  Bourgeois  to  be  invited.  That  class,  especially  the  fe- 
male portion  of  them,  give  themselves  such  airs  now-a- 
days!  As  i:  their  money  made  them  company  for  people 
of  quality.     They  must  be  kept  down,  I  say,  or —  " 

'  "  And  the  Royal  Intendant  quite  agrees  with  the  gene- 
ral sentiment  of  the  higher  circles,'*  responded  Madame  de 
Grandmaison.     "  He  is  for  keeping  down —  " 

•'Noblesse!  Noblesse!"  The  Lady  de  Tilly  spoke 
with  visible  impatience.  "  Who  is  this  Royal  Intendant, 
who  dares  cast  a  slight  uj-on  the  worthy,  honest,  Bourgeoisie 
of  this  city  t  Is  he  noble  himself  ?  Not  that  I  would  think 
worse  of  him,  were  he  not,  but  I  have  heard  it  disputed. 


90 


THE  CHI  EN  lyOP. 


i  ,  < 


!  I  *'.- 


He  is  the  last  one  who  sliould  venture  tc  scorn  the  Boup 


it 


geoisie 

Madame  de  Grandmaison  fanned  herself  in  a  very 
stately  manner.  "O  my  Lady,  you  surely  forget!  The 
Chevalier  Bigot  is  a  not  distant  relative  of  the  Count  de 
Marviile,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Grandmaison  is  a  constant 
visitor  at  the  Intendant's !  But  he  would  not  have  sat  at 
his  table  an  hour,  had  he  not  known  that  he  was  connected 
with  the  nobility.     The  Count  de  Marville — " 

"  The  Count  de  Marville !  "  interrupted  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whose  politeness  almost  gave  way.  "  Truly  a  man  is  known 
by  the  company  he  keeps.  No  credit  to  any  one  to  be 
connected  with  the  Count  de  Marville." 

Madame  de  Grandmaison  felt  rather  subdued.  She 
perceived  that  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  not  favorably  impress- 
ed towards  the  Intendant.  But  she  tried  again.  "  And  then 
my  Lady,  the  Intendant  is  so  powerful  at  Court.  He  was 
a  particular  friend  of  Madame  D'Etioles,  before  she  was 
known  at  Court,  and  they  say  he  managed  her  introduction 
to  the  King,  at  the  famous  masked  ball  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  when  His  Majesty  threw  his  handkerchief  at  her,  and 
she  became  first  dame  du palais,  and  the  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour. She  has  ever  remained  his  firm  friend,  and  in  spite 
of  all  his  enemies  could  do  to  prevent  it,  His  Majesty 
made  him  Intendant  of  New  France." 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  King's  friends  could  do,  you  mean," 
replied  the  Lady  de  Tilly  in  a  tone,  the  sourKl  of  which 
caught  the  ear  of  Am^lie,  and  she  knew  her  aunt  was 
losing  patience  with  her  visitors.  Lady  de  Tilly  heard  the 
name  of  the  Royal  minister  with  intense  disgust,  but  her 
innate  loyalty  prevented  her  speaking  disparagingly  of  the 
King.  "  We  will  not  discuss  the  court,  said  she,  nor  the 
friendships  of  this  Intendant.  I  can  only  pray,  his  future 
may  make  amends  for  his  past.  I  trust  New  France  may 
not  have  as  much  reason  as  poor  lost  Acadia,  to  lament 
the  day  of  his  coming  to  the  colonies." 

The  two  lady  vistors  were  not  obtuse.  They  saw  they 
had  roused  the  susceptibilities  (prejudices  they  called  them) 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  They  rose,  and  smothering  their 
disappointment  under  well  bred  phrases,  took  most  polite 
leave  of  the  dignified  old  lady,  who  was  heartily  glad  to  be 
rid  of  them. 

**  The  disagreeable  old  thing  1  to  talk  so  of  the  Intend* 


?■■:- 


AMEL/E  DE  REPENTIGNY, 


9» 


ant  1 "  exclaimed  Madame  Couillard,  spitefully.  "  When 
her  own  nephew,  and  heir  in  the  Seigneury  of  Tilly,  is  the 
Intendant's  firmest  friend  and  closest  companion." 

**  Yes,  she  forgot  about  her  own  house,  people  always 
forget  to  look  at  home,  when  they  p.iss  judgment  upon 
their  neighbors,"  replied  Madame  de  Grandmaison.  "  But 
I  am  mistaken,  if  she  will  be  able  to  impress  Lc  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny  with  her  uncharitable,  and  unfashionable 
opinions  of  the  Intendant.  I  hope  the  ball  will  be  the 
greatest  social  success  ever  seen  in  the  city,  just  to  vex  her 
and  her  niece,  who  is  as  proud  and  particular  as  she  is 
licrself." 

Am61ie  de  Repentigny  had  dressed  herself,  to-day,  in  a 
robe  of  soft  muslin  of  Deccan ;  the  gift  of  a  relative  in 
Pondicherry.  It  enveloped  her  exquisite  form,  without 
concealing  the  grace  and  lissomness  of  her  movements.  A 
broad  blue  ribbon  round  Jier  waist,  and  in  her  dark  hair  a 
blue  flower,  were  all  her  adornments,  except  a  chain  and 
cross  of  gold,  which  lay  upon  her  bosom,  the  rich  gift  of  her 
brother,  and  often  kissed  with  a  silent  prayer  for  his  welfare 
and  happiness.  More  than  once,  under  the  influence  of  some 
indefinable  impulse,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  mirror,  com- 
paring her  features  now  with  a  portrait  of  herself,  taken 
as  a  young  girl  in  the  garb  of  a  shepherdess  of  Provence 
Her  father  used  to  like  that  picture  of  her,  and  to  please 
him,  she  often  wore  her  hair  in  the  fashion  of  Provence. 
She  did  so  to-day.  Why?  The  subtle  thought  in  many 
protean  shapes  played  before  her  fancy,  but  she  would  not 
try  to  catch  it.     No  I  rather  shyly  avoided  its  examination. 

She  was  quite  restless,  and  sat  down  again  in  the  deep 
recess  of  the  window,  watching  the  Place  d'  Armes  for  the 
appearance  of  her  brother. 

She  gave  a  sudden  start  at  last,  as  a  couple  of  officers 
galloped  into  the  square,  and  rode  towards  the  great  gate 
of  the  Chateau,  one  of  them  she  instantly  recognized  as 
her  brother,  the  other,  a  tall  martial  figure  in  full  uniform, 
upon  a  fiery  grey,  she  did  not  recognize,  but  she  knew  in 
her  heart,  it  could  be  no  other  than  Colonel  Philibert. 

Am^lie  felt  a  tlirill,  almost  painful  in  its  pleasure,  agi- 
tating her  bosom,  as  she  sat  watching  the  gateway  they  had 
entered.  It  was  even  a  momentary  relief  to  her,  that  they 
had  turned  in  there,  instead  of  riding  directly  to  the  house. 
It  gave  her  time  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  summon  up 


9» 


THE  CHIEN  EtOR, 


all  her  6)rtitude  for  the  coming  interview.  Her  fin^en 
wandered  down  to  the  rosary  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and 
the  golden  bead,  which  hacl  so  often  prompted  her  prayer 
for  the  happiness  of  Pierre  Philibert,  seemed  to  burn  to  the 
touch.  Her  cheek  crimsoned,  for  a  strange  thought  sud- 
denly intruded — the  boy  Pierre  Philibert,  whose  image  and 
memory  she  had  so  long  and  innocently  cherished,  was  now 
a  man,  a  soldier,  a  councillor,  trained  in  courts  and  camps  i 
How  unmaidenly  she  had  acted,  forgeting  all  this  in  her 
childish  prayers  until  this  moment !  "  I  meant  no  harm  1 " 
was  all  the  defence  she  could  think  of.  Nor  had  she  time 
to  think  more  of  herself,  for  after  remaining  ten  minutes 
in  the  Chateau,  just  long  enough  to  see  the  Governor,  and 
deliver  the  answer  of  the  Intendant  to  his  message,  the 
grey  charger  emerged  from  the  gate.  His  rider  was  accom- 
panied by  her  brother,  and  the  well  known  figure  of  her 
godfather  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  who  rode  up  the  hill,  and  in 
a  minute  or  two,  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  mansion 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

'  The  fabled  Lynx,  whose  eye  penetrates  the  very  earth 
to  discover  hidden  treasure,  did  not  cast  a  keener  and 
more  inquisitive  glance  than  that  which  Am^lie,  shrouded 
behind  the  thick  curtains,  directed  from  the  window  at 
the  tall,  manly  figure,  and  handsome  countenance  of  him 
whom  she  knew  to  be  Pierre  Philibert.  Let  it  not  detract 
from  her  that  she  gave  way  to  an  irresistible  impulse  of 
womanly  curiosity.  The  Queen  of  France  would,  under  the 
same  temptation,  have  done  the  same  thing,  and  perhaps 
without  feeling  half  the  modest  shame  of  it  that  Am^lie 
did.  A  glance  sufficed ;  but  a  glance  that  impressed  upon 
her  mind  for  ever  the  ineffaceable  and  perfect  image  of 
Pierre  Philibert  the  man,  who  came  in  place  of  Pierre 
Philibert  the  boy  friend  of  Le  Gardeur  and  of  herself. 


a» 


l','i} 


,  r->  i-*i^j     •  *'Zr^  V 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  soldier's    WELCOME. 


W: 


The  voices  of  the  gentlenen  mingled  with  her  aunt's 
in  eager  greetings.  She  well  knew  which  must  be  the 
voice  of  Colonel  i^hilibert — the  rest  were  all  so  familiar  to 


THE  SOLDIER  S  WELCOME, 


93 


her  ear.  Suddenly  footsteps  ran  up  the  grand  stair, 
clearing  three  at  a  time.  She  waited,  trembling  with  !»• 
ticipation.  Le  Gardeur  rushed  into  the  room  with  oat- 
stretched  arms,  embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  in  a  trant* 
port  of  brotherly  affection. 

"  Oh,  Le  Gardeur !  "  cried  she,  returning  his  kiss  with 
fond  affection,  and  looked  in  his  face  with  tendeficss' and 
joy.  "  O  my  brother,  how  I  have  prayed  and  longed  lot 
your  coming.  Thank  God!  you  are- here  at  last.  You 
are  well,  brother,  are  you  not  ? "  said  she,  looking  up  with 
a  glance  that  seemed  to  betray  some  anxiety. 

"  Never  better,  Amdlie,"  replied  he,  in  a  gayer  tone 
than  was  quite  natural  to  him,  and  shyly  averting  his  eyes 
from  her  tender  scrutiny.  "  Never  better.  Why,  if  I  had 
been  in  my  grave  I  should  have  risen  up  to  welcome  a 
friend  whom  I  have  met  to-day  after  years  of  separation. 
Oh,  Am^lie,  I  have  such  news  for  you :  " 

"  News  for  me,  Le  Gardeur !  What  caii  it  be  ?"  A 
blush  stole  over  her  countenance,  and  her  bosom  heaved, 
for  she  was  very  conscious  of  the  nature  of  the  news  her 
brother  was  about  to  impart. 

'  "  Guess !  you  unsuspecting  queen  of  shepherdesses," 
cried  he,  archly  twisting  a  lock  of  her  hair  that  hung  over 
her  shoulder.     "  Guess,  you  pretty  gypsy,  you !  " 

"  Guess  ?  How  can  I  guess,  Le  Gardeur  ?  Can  there 
be  any  news  left  in  the  city  of  Quebec  after  an  hour's  visit 
from  Madame  de  Grandmaison  and  Madame  Couillard. 
I  did  not  go  down,  but  I  know  they  inquired  much  after 
you,  by  the  wrv  I  "  Amdlie,  with  a  little  touch  of  feminine 
perversity,  shyiy  put  off  the  grand  burst  of  Le  Gardeur*s 
intelligence,  knowing  it  was  sure  to  come. 

"  Pshaw  1  who  cares  for  those  old  scandal-mongers  I 
But  you  can  never  guess  my  news,  Amdlie,  so  I  may  as 
well  tell  you."  Le  Gardeur  fairly  swelled  with  the  an- 
nouncement he  was  about  to  make,     s  e  v?.    * 

"  Have  mercy  then,  brother,  and  tell  me  at  once,  for 
you  do  now  set  my  curiosity  on  tip-toe."  She  was  a  true 
woman,  and  wjiild  not  for  anything  have  admitted  her 
knowledge  of  the  presence  of  Colonel  Philibert  in  the 
house.  ^i^4''-%ii'i^ 

"Amdlie,"  said  he,  taking  her  by  both  hands,  as  if  to 
prevent  her  escape,  "  I  was  at  Beaumanoir,  you  know 
The  Intendant  gave  a  grand  hunting  party,"  added  he,  n<h 


94 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


■'■■■t 


l|  :| 


ticing  the  quick  glance  she  gave  him,  **  am  who  do  you 
think  came  to  the  Ch&teau  and  recognized  me,  or  rather  I 
recognized  him  ?  A  stranger — and  not  such  a  stranger 
either,  Am^Iie." 

"  Nay ;  go  on  brother  1  Who  could  this  mysterious 
strangjer  and  no  stranger  have  been  ?  " 

^w  Philihert !  Amelie !     Pierre — our  Pierre,  you 
Know  I     You  recollect  him,  sister !  " 

"  Recollect  Pierre  .Philibert?  Why,  how  could  I  ever 
forget  him  while  you  are  living?  since  to  him  we  are  all 
indebted  for  your  life,  brother  !  " 

"  I  know  that ;  are  you  not  glad,  as  1  am,  at  his  re- 
turn ?  '*  asked  Le  Gardeur,  with  a  penetrating  look. 

She  threw  her  arms  round  him  involuntarily,  for  she 
was  much  agitated.  "  Glad,  brother  ?  Yes,  I  am  glad, 
because  you  are  glad." 

"  No  more  than  that,  Amelie  ?  That  is  a  small  thing 
to  be  glad  for." 

"  Oh,  brother  1  I  am  glad  for  gladness'  sake  1  We  can 
never  overpay  the  debt  of  gratitude  we  owe  Pierre  Phili- 
bert." 're  ft: 

"  O  my  sweet  sister,"  replied  he,  kissing  her  ;  "  I  knew 
my  news  would  please  you.  Come,  we  will  go  down  and 
see  him  at  once,  for  Pierre  is  in  the  house." 

"  But  Le  Gardeur ! "  She  blushed  and  hesitated.  "  Pierre 
Philibert  I  knew ;  I  could  speak  to  him  ;  but  I  shall  hardly 
dare  recognize  him  in  the  stately  soldier  of  to-day.  FotV/a 
la  difference  r^  added  she,  repeating  the  refrain  of  a  song 
very  popular  both  in  New  France  and  in  Old  at  that  pe- 
riod. 

Le  Gardeur  did  not  comprehend  her  hesitation  and 
tone.  Said  he :  "  Pierre  is  wonderfully  changed  since  he 
and  I  wore  the  green  sash  of  the  seminary.  He  is  taller 
than  I — wiser  and  better — he  was  always  that ;  but  in 
heart  the  same  generous,  noble  Pierre  Philibert  he  was 
when  a  boy.  Voillala  re'ssemblance  I  ^'  added  he  pulling 
her  hair  archly  as  he  repeated  the  antistrophe  of  the  same 
ditty. 

Amelie  gave  her  brother  a  fond  look,  but  she  did  not 
reply,  except  by  a  tight  pressure  of  the  hand.  The  voices 
of  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and 
Colonel  Philibert  were  again  heard  in  animated  conversa- 
tioQ.     "Come  brother,  we  will  go  now,"  said  she,  and 


■M 


THE  SOLDIEICS  WELCOME, 


9S 


and  I 


quick  it;  executing  any  resolution  she  had  formed,  she 
took  the  arm  of  her  brother,  swept  with  him  down  the 
broad  stair,  and  entered  the  drawing  room. 

Philibert  rose  to  his  feet  in  admiration  of  tbiC  vision  of 
loveliness  that  suddenly  beamed  upon  his  eyes.  It  was  the 
incarnation  of  all  the  shapes  of  grace  and  beauty  that  had 
passed  through  his  fervid  fancy  during  so  many  years  o£ 
absence  from  his  native  land.  Something  there  was  of 
the  features  of  the  young  girl  who  had  ridden  with  flying 
locks  like  a  sprite,  through  the  woods  of  Tilly.  But  com- 
paring his  recollection  of  that  slight  girl  with  the  tall,  lithe, 
perfect  womanhood  of  the  half-blusliing  girl  before  him,  he 
hesitated  although  intuitively  aware  that  it  could  be  no 
other  than  the  idol  of  his  heart,  Amdiie  de  Repentigny. 

Le  Gardeur  solved  the  doubt  in  a  moment  by  exclaim- 
ing, in  a  tone  of  exultation,  "  Pierre  Philibert,  I  bring  an 
old  young  friend  to  greet  you — my  sister." 

Philibert  advanced  and  Amtflie  raised  her  dark  eyes 
with  a  momentary  glance,  that  drew  into  her  heart  the  mem- 
ory of  his  face  for  ever.  She  held  out  her  hand  frankly 
and  courteously.  Philibert  bent  over  it  as  reverently  as 
he  would  over  the  hand  of  the  Madonna. 

The  greeting  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  had  been  cordial,  nay,  affectionate  in  its  kindness. 
The  good  lady  kissed  Pierre  a?  a  mother  might  have  done 
a  long-absent  son. 

™  "  Colonel  Philibert,"  said  Am^lie,  straining  her  nerves 
to  the  tension  of  steel  to  preserve  her  composure  ;  "  Colonel 
Philibert  is  most  welcome.  He  has  never  been  forgotten 
in  this  house."  She  glanced  at  her  aunt,  who  smiled  ap- 
provingly at  Am^lie's  remark. 

"  Thanks,  Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny ;  I  am,  indeed, 
happy  to  be  remembered  here.  It  fulfils  one  of  my  most 
chsrished  hopes  in  returning  to  my  native  land." 

"Aye,  aye,  Pierre,"  interrupted  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
vho  looked  on  this  little  scene  very  admiringly,  "  Good 
blood  never  lies.  Look  at  Colonel  Philibert  there,  with 
the  King's  epaulets  on  his  shoulders.  I  have  a  sharp  eye 
as  you  know,  Am^lie,  when  I  look  after  my  pretty  god- 
daughter; but  I  should  not  have  recognized  our  lively 
Pierre  in  him  had  Le  Gardeur  not  introduced  him  to 
me,  and  I  think  you  would  not  have  known  him  either.** 
'  "  Thai.ks  for  yo  ir  looking  after  me,  godfather,'*  replied 


,*■?" 

A 

"M 

' 

'■^W 

h' 

^ 

i^' 

"l; 

ii^ 

THE  CHIEff  jyOR, 


»■.  ; 


Am^lie,  merrily,  vcrv  grateful  in  her  heart  for  his  appre- 
ciation of  Pierre,  '*  but  I  thinlc  neither  aunt  nor  I  should 
have  failed  to  recognize  him." 

"  Right,  my  Am^lie,"  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  "  We 
should  not  I  And  we  shall  not  be  afraid,  Pierre — I  must 
call  you  Pierre  or  nothing— we  shall  not  be  afraid,  although 
you  do  lay  in  a  new  stock  of  acquaintances  in  the  capital, 
that  old  friends  will  be  put  aside  as  unfashionable  rem- 
nants." 

"  My  whole  stock  of  friendship  consists  of  those  rem- 
nants, my  Lady — memories  of  dear  friends  I  love  and  honor 
— they  will  never  be  unfashionable  with  me.  I  should  be 
bankrupt  indeed  were  I  to  part  with  one  of  them." 

"Then  they  are  of  a  truer  fabric  than  Penelope's  web,  for 
she,  I  read,  pulled  in  pieces  at  night  what  she  had  woven 
through  the  day,"  replied  Lady  de  Tilly,  "give  me  the 
friendship  that  won't  unravel."  \ 

"  But  not  a  thread  of  my  recollections  has  ever  unravel- 
ed or  ever  will,"  replied  Pierre  looking  at  Am^lie  as  she 
clasped  the  arm  of  her  aunt,  feeling  stronger  as  is  woman's 
way  by  the  contact  with  another. 

"  Zounds  !  What  is  all  this  merchant's  talk  about  webs 
and  threads  and  thrums,"  exclaimed  La  Corne.  "  There 
is  no  memory  so  good  as  a  soldier's,  Am^lie,  and  reason 
good.  A  soldier  on  our  wild  frontiers  is  compelled  to  be 
faithful  to  old  friends  and  old  flannels.  He  cannot  help 
himself  to  new  ones  if  he  would.  I  was  five  years  and 
never  saw  a  woman's  face  except  red  ones,  some  of  them 
were  very  comely  by  the  way,"  added  the  old  warrior  with 
a  smile.  .>    .»->::  .  .»:  .'^v- 

'*  The  gallantry  of  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  is  incon- 
testable," remarked  Pierre,  "  for  once  when  we  captured  a 
convoy  of  soldiers*  wives  from  New  England,  he  escorted 
them  with  drums  beating  to  Grand  Pr^,  and  sent  a  cask  of 
Gascon  wine  for  them  to  celebrate  their  reunion  with  their 
husbands." 

"  Frowzy  huzzies  I  rot  worth  the  keeping,  or  I  would 
not  have  sent  them ;  fit  only  for  the  bobtailed  militia  of 
New  England !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne. 

"Not  so,  thought  the  New  Englanders,  who  had  a 
tliree-days  feast  when  they  remarried  their  wives  and  hand- 
some they  were  too,"  said  Philibert.  "  The  healths  they 
drank  to  the  Chevlier  were  enough  to  make  him  immortaL" 


THE  SOLD/E/rS  WELCOME. 


9? 


La  Come  always  brushed  aside  compliments  to  hlmaetft 
"  Tut  my  Lady  1  it  was  more  Pierre's  good  nature  than  mine. 
He  out  of  kindness  let  the  women  rejoin  their  husbands, 
on  my  part  it  was  policy  and  stratagem  of  war.  Hear  th« 
sequel  I  The  wives  spoiled  the  husbands  as  I  guessed  they 
would  do,  taught  them  to  be  too  late  at  reveillie^  too  eaily 
at  tatoo.  They  neglected  guards  and  pickets,  and  when 
the  long  n.'ghts  of  winter  set  in,  the  men  hugged  their  wives 
by  the  firesides  instead  of  their  muskets  by  their  watch* 
fires.  Then  came  destruction  upon  them  I  In  a  blinding 
storm,  amid  snow-drifts  and  darkness,  Coulon  de  Villiers, 
with  his  troops  on  snow  shoes,  marched  into  the  New  Eng- 
land camp,  and  made  widows  of  the  most  of  the  poor  wives, 
who  fell  into  our  hands  the  second  time.  Poor  creatures  I 
I  saw  that  day  how  hard  it  was  to  be  a  soldier's  wife."  La 
Gome's  shaggy  eyelash  twinkled  with  moisture.  "  But  it 
was  the  fortune  of  war ! — the  fortune  of  war,  and  a  crael 
fortune  it  is  at  the  best !  " 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pressed  her  hand  to  her  bosom  to 
suppress  the  rising  emotion.  "  Alas !  Chevalier  1  poor 
widows  1  I  feel  all  they  suffered.  War  is  indeed,  a  croel 
fortune,  as  I  too  have  had  reason  to  leam." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  poor  women,  godfather  ? " 
Amdlie's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.  It  was  in  her 
heart,  if  ever  in  any  mortal,  to  love  her  enemies. 

"  Oh,  we  cared  for  them  the  best  we  could.  The  Baron 
de  St.  Castin  sheltered  them  in  his  ch&teau  for  the  winter, 
and  his  daughter  devoted  herself  to  them  with  the  zeal  and 
tenderness  of  a  Saint  from  heaven.  'A  noble,  lovely  girl 
Am^lie  1 "  added  La  Corne,  impressively.  **  The  fairest 
flower  in  all  Acadia,  and  most  unfortunate,  poor  girl  1 
God's  blessing  rest  upon  her  wherever  she  may  be  I  "  La 
Gorne  St.  Luc  spoke  with  a  depth  of  emotion  be  rarely 
manifested.  - 

"How  was  she  unfortunate,  godfather?"  Philibert 
watched  the  cheek  flush  and  the  eyelid  quiver  of  the  fair 
girl  as  she  spoke,  carried  away  by  her  sympathy.  His 
heart  went  with  his  looks. 

"  Alas  ! "  replied  La  Corne,  "  I  would  fain  not  answer, 
lest  I  distrust  the  moral  government  of  the  universe.  But 
we  are  blind  creatures,  and  God's  ways  are  not  fashioned 
in  our  ways.  Let  no  one  boast  that  he  stands,  lest  he  fall  I 
We  need  the  help  of  the  Host  of  Heaven  to  keep  us  upright, 

7      . 


i\\ 


h-  :- 


mm 


'•■ii  =' ii 


98  7W^  CHIEN  D'OR, 

•ad  maintain  our  integt  'ty.  I  can  scarcely  think  of  that 
noble  girl  without  tears.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it !  The  pity  of 
it  I" 

Lady  de  Tilly  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  "  I  knew  the 
Baron  de  St.  Castin,"  said  she.  "  When  he  came  to  perform 
homage  at  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  for  the  grant  o(  some 
lands  in  Acadia,  he  was  accompanied  by  his  only  daughter, 
a  child  perfect  in  goodness,  grace,  and  loveliness.  She  was 
just  the  age  of  Amdlie.  The  ladies  of  the  city  were  in 
raptures  over  the  pretty  May-flower,  as  they  called  her. 
What  in  heaven's  name  has  happened  to  that  dear  child  ? 
Chevalier  La  Corne."  ^..*ftt;t-  v.-..oif^  -w^^Af  a-.:.-  ,r.<^>n.*  i*y| ,  "hr 

La  Corne  St.  Luc,  half  angry  with  himself  for  having 
broached  the  painful  topic,  and  not  used  to  pick  his  words 
replied  bluntly.  "  Happened,  my  Lady  ?  What  is  it  hap- 
pens worst  to  a  woman  ?  She  loved  a  man  unworthy  of  her 
love — a  villain  in  spite  of  high  rank  and  King's  f-.*or,  who 
deceived  this  fond,  confiding  girl,  and  abandoned  her  to 
shame  I  Faugh  !  It  is  the  way  of  the  Court,  they  say,  and 
the  King  has  not  withdrawn  his  favor  but  heaped  new 
honors  upon  him  ! "  La  Corne  put  a  severe  curb  upon  his 
utterance  and  turned  impatiently  away,  lest  he  might  curse 
the  King  as  well  as  the  favorite. 

"  But  what  became  of  the  poor  deceived  girl  ? "  asked 
the  Lady  de  Tilly,  after  hastily  clearing  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief.  ,i,vt'-arn*  :;  ;;■;;>  ■';'^;-  ,i!«.;^" 

"Oh,  the  old  old  story  followed.  She  ran  away  from 
home  in  an  agony  of  shame  and  fear,  to  avoid  the  return 
of  her  father  from  France.  She  went  among  the  Indians 
of  the  St.  Croix  they  say,  and  has  not  been  heard  of  since. 
Poor,  dear  girl  1  her  very  trust  in  virtue  was  the  cause  of 
her  fall !  "   x^i.^t  .--i.'-u'h  -  'y^  -  ^%-'v.  n.>\  \/ii'-'  •■ii'c-  '^K-i-^x) 

Am^lie  turned  alternately  pale  and  red  at  the  recital 
of  her  godfather.  She  riveted  her  eyes  upon  the  ground 
as  she  pressed  close  to  her  aunt,  clasping  her  arm,  as  if 
seeking  strength  and  support. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  sad  recital. 
She  inquired  the  name  of  the  man  of  rank  who  had  acted 
so  treacherously  to  the  hapless  girl,     i  ^  v, 

"  I  will  not  utter  the  name  to-day,  my  Lady  !  It  has 
been  revealed  to  me  as  a  great  secret.  It  is  a  name  too  high 
for  the  stroke  of  the  'aw  if  there  be  any  law  left  us  but 
the  will  of  a  king's  mistress  !    God,  however,  has  left  us  the 


ThfE  SOLDIER'S  IVELCOMS. 


99 


law  of  a  gentleman's  sword  to  avenge  its  master's  wron^. 
The  Baron  de  St.  Castin  will  soon  return  to  vindicate  his 
own  honor  and  whether  or  no,  I  vow  to  heaven,  my  Lady 
that  the  traitor  who  has  wronged  that  sweet  girl,  will  one 
day,  have  to  try  whether  his  sword  be  sharper  than  that  ol 
La  Corne  St.  Luc  !  But  pshaw  !  I  am  talking  bravado  like 
an  Indian  at  the  war  post.  The  story  of  those  luckless 
New  England  wives  has  carried  us  beyond  all  bounds." 

Lady  de  Tilly  looked  admiringly,  without  a  sign  of  re- 
proof at  the  old  soldier,  sympathizing  with  his  honest 
indignation  at  so  foul  a  wrong  to  her  sex.  "  Were  that 
dear  child  mine,  woman  as  I  am,  I  would  do  the  same 
Ihing !  "  said  she  with  a  burst  of  feeling.  She  felt  Amdlie 
press  her  arm  as  if  she  too  shared  the  spirit  of  her  bolder 
aunt. 

"  But  here  comes  Felix  Baudoin  to  summon  us  to  din- 
ner !  "  exclaimed  Lady  de  Tilly,  as  an  old  white-headed  ser- 
vitor in  livery  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  low  bow, 
announcing  that  dinner  was  served.      =r  «^ 

Le  Gardeur  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc  greeted  the  old  servi- 
tor with  the  utmost  kindness,  inquired  after  his  health, 
and  begged  a  pinch  from  his  well-worn  snuff-box.  Such 
familiarities  were  not  rar?  in  that  day  between  the  gentle- 
men of  New  France  ind  their  old  servants,  who  usually 
passed  their  lifetime  in  one  household.  Felix  was  the 
major  domo  of  the  manor  house  of  Tilly,  trusty,  punctili- 
ous, and  polite,  and  honored  by  his  mistress  more  as  a 
humble  friend  than  as  a  servant  of  her  house. 

"  Dinner  is  served,  my  Lady  ! "  repeated  Felix  with  an 
bow.  "  But  my  Lady  must  excuse !  The  kitchen  has 
been  full  of  habitans  all  day.  I'he  Trifourchettes,  the 
Doubledents,  and  all  the  best  eaters  in  Tilly  have  been 
here.  /Vfter  obeying  my  Lady's  commands  to  give  them 
all  they  could  eat,  we  have  had  difficulty  in  saving  anything 
for  my  Lady's  own  table." 

"  No  matter,  Felix,  we  shall  say  grace  all  the  same.  I 
could  content  myself  with  bread  and  water,  to  give  fish  and 
flesh  to  my  censitaireo,  who  are  working  so  willingly  on 
the  King's  corvee  /  But  that  must  be  my  apology  to  you, 
Pierre  Philibert  and  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  for  a  poorer 
dinner  than  I  could  wish." 

"  Oh,  I  feel  no  misgivings,  my  Lady  I "  remarked  La 
Corne  St.  Luc,  laughing,  "  Felix  Baudoin  is  too  faithful  a 


if 


too 


TffjS  CHIEN  D'Ok, 


servitor  to  starve  his  mistress  for  tlie  sake  of  the  Trifoujr 
chettes,  the  Doubledents  and  all  the  best  caters  fr  £« 
Seigneurie  1  No  no  I  will  be  bound  your  Ladyship  /A\ 
find  Felix  has  tolled  and  tithed  from  them  enough  to 
secure  a  dinner  for  us  all— come,  Am^lie  with  me." 

Lady  de  Tilly  took  the  arm  of  Colonel  Philibert,  fol- 
lowed by  Le  Gardeur,  La  Corne  and  Am^lie,  and,  mar- 
shalled by  the  major  domo,  proceeded  to  the  dining  room— 
a  large  room,  wainscotted  with  black  walnut,  a  fine  wood 
lately  introduced.  The  ceiling  was  coved,and  surrounded  by 
a  rich  frieze  of  carving.  A  large  table,  suggestive  of  hos- 
pitality, was  covered  with  diapery  of  the  snowiest  linen, 
the  product  of  the  spinning-wheels  and  busy  looms  of  the 
women  of  the  Seigneurie  of  Tilly.  Vases  of  china,  filled 
with  freshly  gathered  flowers,  shed  sweet  perfumes,  while 
they  delighted  the  eye  with  their  beauty,  etherializing  the 
elements  of  bread  and  meat  by  suggestions  of  the  poetry 
and  ideals  of  life.  A  grand  old  buflEet,  a  prodigy  of  cabi 
net-maker's  art,  displayed  a  mass  of  family  plate,  and  a 
silver  shield  embossed  with  the  arms  of  Tilly,  a  gift  of 
Henry  of  Navarre  to  their  ancient  and  loyal  house,  hung 
upon  the  wall  over  the  buffet. 

In  spite  of  the  Trifourchettes  and  the  Doubledents, 
Felix  Baudoin  had  managed  to  set  an  excellent  dinner 
upon  the  table  of  his  Lady,  who  looked  archly  at  the  Che- 
valier La  Corne,  as  if  assenting  to  his  remark  on  her  old 
servitor. 

The  Lady  remained  standing  at  the  head  of  her  table 
until  they  all  sat  down,  when,  clasping  her  hands,  she  re- 
cited with  feeling  and  clearness  the  old  Latin  grace* 
**  BmediCf  Domine,  nos  et  hcec  tua  dona"  sanctifying  her  table 
by  the  invocation  of  the  blessing  of  God  upon  it  and  upon, 
all  who  sat  round  it. 

A  soup,  rich  and  savory,  was  the  prelude  to  all  din- 
ners in  New  France.  A  salmon  speared  in  the  shallows 
of  the  Chaudifere,  and  a  dish  of  blood-speckled  trout, 
from  the  mountain  streams  of  St.  Joachim,  smoked  upon 
the  board.  Little  oval  loaves  of  wheaten  bread  were 
piled  up  in  baskets  of  silvsr  filigree.  For  in  those 
days  the  fields  of  New   France  produced  crops   of  the 

finest    wheat a    gift    which    Providence     has     since 

withheld.      "The  wheat  went    away  with  the   Bourbon 
lUes,  and  never  grew  afterwards,"  said  the  old  habitants 


THE  SOIL  lEK'S  IVELCOMB. 


lOI 


The  meat  in  the  larder  had  all  really  been  given  to  the 
hungry  censitaires  in  the  kitchen,  except  a  capon  from  the 
Basse  cour  of  Tilly,  and  a  standing  pie,  the  contents  <rf 
which  came  from  the  manorial  dove  cote.  A  reef  ot  rasp- 
berries, red  as  corals,  gathered  on  the  tangled  slopes  of 
r6te  k  Bonhomme,  formed  the  dessert,  with  blue  whortle- 
berries from  Cape  Tourment.  Plums,  sweet  as  honey 
drops,  and  small,  grey-coated  apples  from  Beauprd,  dell 
cious  as  those  that  comforted  the  Rose  of  Sharon.  A  few 
carafes  of  choice  wine  from  the  old  manorial  cellar,  com- 
pleted the  entertainment. 

The  meal  was  not  a  protracted  one,  but  to  Pierre  Phili- 
bert  the  most  blissful  hour  of  his  life.  He  sat  by  the  side 
of  Am^lie,  enjoying  every  moment  as  if  it  were  a  pearl 
dropped  into  his  bosom,  by  word,  look  or  gesture  of  the 
radiant  girl  who  sat  beside  him. 

He  found  Amdlie,  although  somewhat  timid  at  first 
to  converse,  a  willing,  nay  an  eager  listener.  She  was 
attracted  by  the  magnetism  of  a  noble,  sympathetic  nature, 
and  by  degrees  ventured  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  handsome, 
manly  countenance  where  feature  after  feature  revealed 
itself,  like  a  landscape  at  dawn  of  day,  and  in  Colonel  Phil- 
ibert  she  recognized  the  very  looks,  speech  and  manner  of 
Pierre  Philibert  of  old. 

Her  questioning  eyes  hardly  needed  the  interpretation 
of  her  tongue  to  draw  him  out  to  impart  the  story  of  his  life 
during  his  long  absence  from  New  France,  and  it  was  with 
secret  delight  she  found  in  him  a  powerful,  cultivated  intel- 
lect and  nobility  of  sentiment  such  as  she  rightly  supposed 
belonged  only  to  a  great  man,  while  his  visible  pleasure  at 
meeting  her  again  filled  her  with  a  secret  joy  that,  unno- 
ticed by  herself,  suffused  her  whole  countenance  with  ra- 
diance, and  incited  her  to  converse  with  him  more  freely 
than  she  had  thought  it  possible,  when  she  sat  down  at 
table. 

"  It  is  long  since  we  all  sat  together.  Mademoiselle,  at 
the  table  of  your  noble  aunt,"  remarked  Philibert.  "  It 
fulfills  an  often  and  often  repeated  day  dream  of  mine,  that 
I  should  one  day  find  you  just  the  same." 

"  And  do  you  find  me  just  the  same  ? "  answered  she, 
archly,  "  You  take  down  the  pride  of  ladyhood  immensely, 
Colonel  1  I  had  imagined  I  was  something  quite  other  than 
the  wUd  child  of  Tilly  1 " 


I*'^ 


loa 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


If 'I  ';^nm. 


"  I  hardly  like  to  consider  y<  u  as  in  the  pride  of  lady 
hood,  Maden.oiselle,  for  fear  I  should  lose  the  wild  child 
of  Tilly,  whom  I  should  be  so  glad  to  find  again." 

"  And  whom  you  do  find  just  the  same  in  heart,  mind 
and  regard  too ! "  thought  she  to  herself,  but  her  words 
were  :  "  My  school  mistresses  would  be  ashamed  of  their 
work,  Colonel,  if  they  had  not  improved  on  the  very  rude 
material  my  aunt  sent  them  up  from  Tilly  to  manufacture 
into  a  fine  lady !  I  was  the  crowned  queen  of  the  year 
when  I  left  the  Ursulines  !  So  beware  of  considering  me 
*the  child  of  Tilly'  any  longer." 

Her  silvery  laugh  caught  his  heart,  for  in  that  he  recog- 
nized vividly  the  gay  young  girl  whose  image  he  was  every 
instant  developing  out  of  the  tall,  lovely  woman  beside 
him. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  found  a  thou- 
sand delights  in  mutual  reminiscences  of  the  past.  Le 
Gardeur,  somewhat  heavy,  joined  in  conversation  with  Phil- 
bert  and  his  sister.  Am^lie  guessed  and  Philibert  knew 
the  secret  of  Le  Gardeur's  dullness.  Both  strove  to  en- 
liven and  arouse  him,  his  aunt  guessed  too,  that  he  had 
passed  the  night  as  the  guests  of  the  Intendant  always 
passed  it,  and  knowing  his  temper  and  the  regard  he  had 
for  her  good  opinion,  she  brought  the  subject  of  the  In- 
tendant into  conversation,  in  order,  casually  as  it  were,  to 
impress  Le  Gardeur  with  her  opinion  of  him.  Pierre.  Phil- 
ibert, too,  thought  she,  shall  be  put  upon  his  guard  against 
the  crafty  Bigot. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "  you  are  happy  in  a  father  who  is 
a  brave,  honorable  man,  of  whom  any  son  in  the  world 
might  be  proud.  The  country  holds  by  him  immensely, 
and  he  deserves  their  regard.  Watch  over  him  now  you 
are  at  home,  Pierre.  He  has  some  relentless  and  power- 
ful enemies  who  would  injure  him  if  they  could. 

"  That  has  he,"  remarked  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  "  I  have 
spoken  to  the  Sieur  Philibert,  and  cautioned  him,  but  he 
is  not  impressible  on  the  subject  of  his  own  safety.  The 
Intendant  spoke  savagely  of  him  in  public  the  other  day." 

"  Did  he.  Chevalier  ? "  replied  Philibert,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing with  another  fire  than  that  which  had  filled  them  look- 
ing at  Amdlie,  "  He  shall  account  to  me  for  his  words,  were 
he  Regent  instead  of  Intendant  I  " 


Tim  SOLDJEJi'S  P^ELCOME. 


103 


i;  La  Come  St.  Luc  looked  half  approvingly  at  Philibert 

"  Don't  quarrel  with  him  yet,  Pierre  1  You  cannot 
make  a  quarrel  of  what  he  said,  yet." 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  uneasily  and  said  : 

'•  Don't  quarrel  with  him  at  all,  Pierre  Philibert  1  Judge 
him  and  avoid  him  as  a  christian  man  should  do.  Gcd  will 
deal  with  Bigot  as  he  deserves.  The  crafty  man  will  be 
caught  in  his  own  devices  some  day." 

"  Oh,  Bigot  is  a  gentleman,  aunt,  too  polite  to  insult  any 
one,"  remarked  Le  Gardeur,  impatient  to  defend  one 
whom  he  regarded  as  a  friend.  "  He  is  the  prince  of  good 
fellows,  and  not  crafty,  I  think,  but  all  surface  and  sun- 
shine." 

"  You  never  explored  the  depths  of  him,  Le  Gardeur," 
remarked  La  Corne.  "  I  grant  he  is  a  gay,  jesting,  drink- 
ing and  gambling  fellow  in  company;  but,  trust  me,  he  is 
deep  and  dark  as  the'Devil's  cave  that  I  have  seen  in  the 
Ottawa  country.  It  goes  story  under  story,  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  the  imagination  loses  itself  in  contemplating 
the  bottomless  pit  of  it.     That  is  Bigot,  Le  Gardeur." 

"  My  censitaires  report  to  me,"  remarked  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  "  that  his  commissaries  are  seizing  the  very  seed-corn 
of  the  country.  Heaven  knows  what  will  become  of  my 
poor  people  next  year  if  the  war  continue  ?  " 

"  What  will  become  of  the  Province  in  the  hands  of 
Francois  Bigot  ? "  replied  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  "  They  say, 
Philibert,  that  a  certain  great  lady  at  court,  who  is  his  part- 
ner or  patroness,  or  both,  has  obtained  a  grant  of  your 
father's  sequestered  estate  in  Normandy,  for  her  relative, 
the  Count  de  Marville.  Had  you  heard  of  that,  Philibert  ? 
It  is  the  latest  news  from  France."         . ,  .  ,    V  ;;  , 

"  Oh  yes.  Chevalier!  Ill  news  like  that  never  misses 
the  mark  it  is  aimed  at.  The  news  soon  reached  my 
father ! " 

"  And  how  does  your  father  take  it  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  a  true  philosopher.  He  takes  it  as  Soc- 
rates might  have  taken  it.  He  laughs  at  the  Count  de 
Marville,  who  will,  he  says,  want  to  sell  the  estate  before 
the  year  is  out,  to  pay  his  debts  of  honor — the  only  debts 
he  ever  does  pay." 

"  If  Bigot  had  anything  to  do  with  such  an  outrage," 
exclaimed  Le  Gardeur  warmly,  **  I  would  renounce  him  on 
the  spot     I   have  heard   Bigot  speak  of  this  gift  to  De 


'  ''%  ■:. 


I. .  ■^■■■■ 

i  ■ 


104 


THE  CH/EN  D'OR. 


.1! 

■',r 


I,.  •;■ 


!  ■! 


Gil; 


IK(;  p. 


Maryillo,  whom  he  hates.     He  says  it  was  all  La  Pomp» 
dour's  doing  from  first  to  last,  and  I  believe  it." 

"  Well,"  remarked  La  Come,  "  Bigot  has  plenty  of  sins 
of  his  own  to  answer  for  to  the  Sieur  Philibert,  on  the  day 
of  accompt,  without  reckoning  this  among  them." 

The  loud  report  of  a  cannon  shook  the  windows  of  the 
room,  and  died  away  in  long  repeated  echoes  among  the 
distant  bills. 

"  That  is  the  signal  for  the  Council  of  War,  my  Lady," 
said  La  Corne.  "  A  soldier's  luck !  just  as  we  were  going 
to  have  music  and  heaven,  we  are  summoned  to  field,  camp 
or  council."  "'J  " 

The  gentlemen  rose  and  accompanied  the  ladies  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  prepared  to  depart.  Colonel  Philibert 
took  a  courteous  leave  of  the  ladies  of  Tilly,  looking  in  the 
eyes  of  Am^lie  for  something,  which,  had  she  not  turned 
them  quickly  upon  a  vase  of  flowers,  he  might  have  found 
there.  She  plucked  a  few  sprays  from  the  bouquet  and 
handed  them  to  him,  as  a  token  of  pleasure  at  meeting 
him  again  in  his  own  land. 

"  Recollect,  Pierre  Philibert  I  "  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
holding  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  "  The  manor  house  of 
Tilly  is  your  second  home,  where  you  are  ever  welcome." 

Philibert  was  deeply  touched  by  the  genuine  and  state- 
ly courtesy  of  the  lady.  He  kissed  her  hand  with  grate- 
ful reverence  and  bowing  to  both  the  ladies,  accompanied 
La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  Le  Gardeur  to  the  castle  of  St. 
Louis. 

Amdlie  sat  in  the  recess  of  the  window,  resting  her 
cheek  upon  her  tremulous  hand,  as  she  watched  the  gentle- 
men proceed  on  their  way  to  the  castle.  Her  mind  was 
overflowing  with  thoughts  and  fancies,  new,  enigmatical, 
yet  delightful.  Her  nervous  manner  did  not  escape  the 
loving  eye  of  her  aunt,  but  she  spoke  not.  She  was  silent 
under  the  burthen  of  a  secret  joy  that  found  not  vent  in 
words. 

Suddenly  Am^lie  rose  from  the  window  and  seated  her- 
self, in  her  impulsive  way,  at  the  organ.  Her  fingers 
touched  the  keys  timidly  at  first  as  she  began  a  trembling 
prelude  of  her  own  fantasy.  In  music  her  pent  up  feel- 
ings found  congenial  expression.  The  fire  kindled  and 
she  presently  burst  out  with  the  voice  of  a  seraph  in  that 
glorious  psalm  :  the  ii6th. 


:-A^ 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS.  105 

Toto  pectore  d'ligam 
Unice  et  Dominum  colam, 
Otti  lenis  mihi  suppHci 
Non  duram  appulit  aurem. 

Aurem  qui  mihi  suppHcf, 
Non  duram  dcdlt;  nunc  ego 
Donee  pectora  spiritus 
Pulset  semper,  Amaba 

Tlie  Lady  de  Tilly,  half  guessing  the  truth,  would  not 
wound  the  susceptibilities  of  her  niece  by  appearing  to  do 
so,  rose  quietly  from  her  seat  and  placed  her  arms  gently 
round  Am^lie  when  she  finished  the  psalm.  She  pressed 
her  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her  fondly,  and  without  a  word 
left  her  to  find  in  music  relief  from  her  high-wrought  feel- 
ings. Her  voice  rose  in  sweeter  and  loftier  harmonies  to 
the  pealing  of  the  organ  as  she  sang  to  the  end,  the  )oyi\x\ 
yet  solemn  psalm  in  a  version  made  for  Queen  Mary  of 
France  and  Scotland,  when  life  was  good,  hope  all  bright* 
ness,  and  dark  days  as  if  they  would  never  come. 


■  \\i\k:nifitryr^u  .p'lmr'-y    Ui                      fy  :\. 

JHCUD,.  io 

.HH::.--;i  J  .f;^,i..  t;      CHAPTER  XII. 

/<H:J4    THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.   LOUIS. 

The  Count  de  la  Galissonnibre,  with  a  number  of  officers 
of  rank,  in  full  uniform,  were  slowly  pacing  up  and  down 
the  long  gallery  that  fronted  the  castle  of  St.  Louis,  wait- 
ing for  the  council  of  war  to  open,  for  although  the  hour 
had  struck,  the  Intendant,  and  many  other  high  officials  of 
the  Colony,  had  not  yet  arrived  from  Beaumanoir. 

The  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  a  massive  structure  of  stone, 
with  square  flanking  towers,  rose  loftily  from  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  overlooking  the  narrow,  tortuous  streets  of 
the  lower  town.  The  steeple  of  the  old  Church  of  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires,  with  its  g'lded  vane,  lay  far  beneath 
the  feet  of  the  observer  as  he  leaned  over  the  balustrade 
of  iron  that  guarded  tlie  gallery  of  the  chateau. 

A  hum  of  voices  and  dense  sounds  rose  up  from  .the 
market  of  Notre  Dame,  and  from  the  quay  where  ships  and 
bateaux  were  moored.    The  cries  of  sailors,  carters  and 


< 


I  "■ 
I 


io6 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


i- 


1^1 


habitans  in  thick  medley  floated  up  the  stee^j  cliffs,  plea» 
ant  sounds  to  the  ear  of  the  worthy  Governor,  who  liked 
the  honest  noises  of  industry  and  labor  better  than  all  the 
music  of  the  Academy. 

A  few  merchantmen  which  had  run  the  blockade  of  the 
English  cruisers  lay  at  anchor  in  the  stream,  whert  the 
broad  river  swept  majestically  round  the  lofty  cape.  In 
the  midst  of  them  a  newly  arrived  King's  ship,  the  FUur  dt 
Lys^  decorated  with  streamers,  floated  proudly  like  a  swan 
among  a  flock  of  teal. 

Le  Gardeur,  as  an  officer  of  the  garrison,  went  to  report 
himself  to  the  military  commandant,  while  La  Come  St. 
Luc  and  Colonel  Philibert,  proceeded  to  the  gallery,  where 
a  crowd  of  officers  were  now  assembleil,  waiting  for  the 
Council. 

The  Governor  at  once  called  Philibert  aside,  and  took 
his  arm.  "  Philibert,"  said  he,  "  I  trust  you  had  no  diffi; 
culty  in  finding  the  Intendant  ? "  '\ 

"  No  difficulty,-  whatever,  your  Excellency.  I  discov- 
ered the  Intendant  and  his  friends,  by  ear,  long  before  I 
got  sight  of  them."  An  equivocal  smile  accompanied 
Philibert's  words,  which  the  Governor  rightly  interpreted. 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,  Philibert,  they  were  carousing  at 
that  hour  of  daylight  ?  Were  they  all — ?  Faugh !  I  shame 
to  speak  the  word.  Was  the  Intendant  in  a  condition  to 
comprehend  my  summons  ? "  The  Governor  looked  sad, 
rather  than  surprised  or  angry — for  he  had  expected  no 
less  than  Philibert  had  reported  to  him. 

"  I  found  him  less  intoxicated,  I  think,  than  many  of 
his  guests.  He  received  your  message  with  more  polite- 
ness than  I  expected,  and  promised  to  be  here  punctually 
at  the  hour  for  opening  the  Council." 

"  Oh,  Bigot  never  lacks  politeness,  drunk  or  sober :  that 
strong  intellect  of  his,  seems  to  defy  the  power  of  wine,  as 
his  heart  is  proof  against  moral  feeling.  You  did  not  pro- 
long your  stay  in  Beaumanoir,  I  fancy  ? "  remarked  the 
Governor,  dinting  the  point  of  his  cane  into  the  floor. 

^  I  hastened  out  of  it  as  I  would  out  of  hell  itself ! 
After  making  prize  of  my  friend  De  Repentigny,  and 
bringing  him  off  with  me,  as  I  mentioned  to  you,  I  got 
quickly  out  of  the  Ch&teau." 

"  You  did  rightly,  Philibert ;  the  Intendant  is  ruining 
half  the  young  men  of  birth  in  the  Colony." 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


107 


*■  He  shall  not  ruin  Le  G  irdeur  if  I  can  save  him," 
said  Philibert,  resolutely.  "  May  I  count  upon  your  Ex- 
cellency's co-operation?"  added  he. 

**  Assuredly,  Philibert !  Command  me  in  anything  you 
can  devise,  to  rescue  that  noble  young  fellow  from  the  fatal 
companionship  of  Bigot.  But  I  know  not  how  long  I  shall 
be  permitted  to  remain  in  New  France :  powerful  intrigues 
are  at  work  for  my  removal !  "  added  the  Governor.  "  I 
care  not  tor  the  removal,  so  that  it  be  not  accompanied 
with  insult." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  received  news  to-day  by  the  frigate  ? " 
said  Philibert,  looking  down  at  the  King's  ship  at  anchor 
in  the  stream.   7>  <  ^^>' '^    isu  .y;- 

"  News  !  yes,  and  such  news,  Philibert,"  replied  the 
Governor,  in  a  tone  of  despondency.  "It  needs  the  wis- 
dom of  Solon  to  legislate  for  this  land,  and  a  Hercules  to 
cleanse  its  Augean  stables  of  official  corruption.  But  my 
influence  at  Court,  is  nil  ;  you  know  that,  Philibert  ? " 

"  But  while  you  are  Governor,  your  advice  ought  to 
prevail  with  the  King,"  replied  Philibert. 

"My  advice  prevail !  listen,  Philibert:  my  letters  to  the 
King  and  the  Minister  of  Marine  and  Colonies,  have  been 
answered  by  whom,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  conceive  who,  out  of  the  legal  channel, 
would  dare  to  reply  to  them." 

■  "  No  !  no  man  could  guess,  that  my  official  despatches 
have  been  answered  by  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour !  She 
replies  to  my  despatches  to  my  sovereign  !  " 

"  La  Pompadour !  "  exclaimed  Philibert  in  a  burst  of 
indignation ;  "  She !  the  King's  mistress,  reply  to  your 
despatches  !  Has  France  come  to  be  governed  by  courte- 
sans, like  imperial  Rome?"      '  •'r^:^  '  ^  '.i,r?rf  ;  T  itpy; 

"  Yes  !  and  you  know  the  meaning  of  that  insult, 
Philibert !  They  desire  to  force  me  to  resign  ;  and  I  shall 
resign  as  soon  as  I  see  my  friends  safe.  I  will  serve  the 
K  Jng  in  his  fleet,  but  never  more  in  a  colony.  This  poor 
land  is  doomed  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  its  enemies, 
unless  we  get  a  speedy  peace.  France  will  help  us  no 
uore!"    "  ■  ^vm-^. -^  ''---^y-  ''.-"'•4*  .' 

"  Don't  say  that,  your  Excellency  !  France  will  surely 
never  be  untrue  to  her  children  in  the  New  World !  But 
our  resources  are  not  yet  all  exhausted :  we  are  not  driven 
to  the  wall  yet,  your  Excellency  ! " 


I 


loS 


Tim  ClUEN  D  OR, 


"  Aliiiost,  I  assure  you,  Philib^rt !  But  wo  shall  under- 
stand that  better  after  the  Council. 

"What  say  the  despatches  touching  the  negotiations 
going  on  for  peace  ? "  asked  Philibert,  who  knew  how  true 
were  the  Governor's  vaticinations. 

.  "  They  speak  favorably  of  peace,  and  I  think  correctly, 
Philibert ;  and  you  know  the  King's  armies  and  the  King's 
mistresses  cannot  all  be  maintained  at  the  same  time — 
women  or  war,  one  or  other  must  give  way — and  one  need 
not  doubt  which  it  will  be,  when  the  women  rule  Court  and 
camp  in  France,  at  the  same  time  I  " 

"  To  think  that  a  woman  picked  out  of  the  gutters  ot 
Paris,  should  rule  France,  and  answer  your  despatches  I  " 
said  Philibert,  angrily ;  "  it  is  enough  to  drive  honorable 
Frenchmen  mad.  But  what  says  the  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour ? " 

"  She  is  specially  severe  upon  my  opposing  the  fiscal 
measures  and  commercial  policy,  as  she  calls  it,  of  her 
friend  the  Intendant !  She  approves  of  his  grant  of  a 
monopoly  of  trade,  to  the  Grand  Company,  and  disputes 
my  right,  as  Governor,  to  interfere  with  the  Intendant  in 
the  finances  of  the  Colony." 

Philibert  felt  deeply  this  wound  to  the  honor  and  dignity 
of  his  chief.     He  pressed  his  hand  in  warmest  sympathy. 

The  Governor  understood  his  feelings.  "  You  are  a 
true  friend,  Philibert,"  said  he  ;  "  Ten  men  like  you  might 
still  save  this  colony!  But  it  is  past  the  hour  for  the 
Council,  and  still  Bigot  delays  !  He  must  have  forgotten  my 
summons." 

"  I  think  not — but  he  might  have  to  wait  until  Cadet, 
Varin,  Deschenaux,  and  the  rest  of  them,  were  in  a  con- 
dition fit  to  travel,"  answered  Philibert  with  an  air  of  dis- 
gust. 

"  O  Philibert  1  the  shame  of  it !  the  shame  of  it !  for 
such  thieves  to  have  the  right  to  sit  among  loyal,  honor- 
able men,"  exclaimed,  or  rather  groaned,  the  Governor. 
**  They  have  the  real  power  in  New  France,  and  we  the 
empty  title  and  the  killing  responsibility  I  Dine  with  me 
to-night,  after  the  Council,  Philibert ;  I  have  much  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Not  to-night,  your  Excellencj  !  My  father  has  killed 
the  fatted  calf  for  his  returned  prodigal,  and  I  must  dine 
with  him  to-night,"  answered  Philibert. 


THE  \:astlh  of  ST.  i.OU/S. 


109 


**  Right  I  Be  it  to-morrow,  then  1  Conic  on  Wcdnc.scl;iy," 
replied  the  Governor.  "  Your  father  is  a  gentleman  who 
carries  the  principles  of  true  nobility  into  the  walks  of 
trade  ;  you  are  happy  in  such  a  father,  Philibert,  as  he  is 
fortunate  in  such  a  son."  The  Governor  bowed  to  his 
friend,  and  rejoined  the  groups  of  officers  upon  the  Terrace. 

A  flash  and  a  column  of  smoke,  white  and  sudden,  rose 
from  the  great  battery  that  flanked  the  ch&teau.  It  was 
the  second  signal  for  the  Council  to  commence.  The 
Count  de  la  Galissonibre,  taking  the  arm  of  La  Corne  St. 
Luc,  entered  the  castle,  and  followed  by  the  crowd  of  offi- 
cers,  proceeded  to  the  great  Hall  of  Council  and  Audience. 
The  Governor,  followed  by  his  secretaries,  walked  forward 
to  the  vice-regal  chair,  which  stood  on  a  dais,  at  the  head 
of  a  long  table  covered  with  crimson  drapery.  On  each 
side  of  the  table,  the  members  of  the  Council  took  the 
places  assigned  to  them,  in  the  order  of  theii  rank  and 
precedence  ;  but  a  long  array  of  chairs  remained  unoccu- 
pied. These  seats,  belonging  to  the  Royal  Intendant  and 
the  other  high  officers  of  the  Colony,  who  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived to  take  their  places  in  the  Council,  stood  empty. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  was  palatial 
in  its  dimensions  and  adornments.  Its  lofty  coved  ceiling, 
rested  on  a  cornice  of'  rich  frieze  of  carved  work,  supported 
on  polished  pilasters  of  oak.  The  panels  of  wainscotting 
upon  the  walls,  were  surrounded  by  delicate  arabesques, 
and  hung  with  paintings  of  historic  interest — portraits  of 
the  Kings,  Governors,  Intendants,  and  Ministers  of  State, 
who  had  been  instrumental  in  the  colonization  of  New 
France. 

Over  the  Governor's  seat,  hung  a  gorgeous  escutcheon 
of  the  Royal  arms,  draped  with  a  cluster  of  white  flags, 
sprinkled  with  golden  lilies — ^the  emblems  of  French 
sovereignty  in  the  Colony. 

Among  the  portraits  on  the  walls,  besides  those  of  the 
late  and  present  King  —  which  hung  on  each  side  of 
the  throne — might  be  seen  the  features  of  Richelieu,  who 
first  organized  the  rude  settlements  on  the  St.  Lawrence, 
into  a  body  politic — a  reflex  of  feudal  France ;  and  of 
Colbert,  who  made  available  its  natural  wealth  and  re- 
sources, by  peopling  it  with  the  oest  scions  of  the  Mother 
Land  —  the  noblesse  and'  peasantr)'  of  Normandy, 
Brittany,  and  Aquitaine.     There,  too,  might  be  seen  the 


V 


m 


ItO 


THE  cniEN  lyoK. 


]VbM 


>  i  " 


keen,  bold  features  of  Carticr,  the  first  discoverer,  and  ol 
Champlain,  the  first  explorer  of  the  new  land,  and  the 
founder  of  Quebec.  The  gallai  t,  restless  Louis  Buade  do 
Frontenac,  was  pictured  thcr<*,*side  by  side,  with  his  fair 
countess,  called  by  reason  of  her  surpassing  loveliness, 
"  The  Divine."  Vaudr mil,  too,  who  spent  a  long  life  of 
devotion  to  his  country,  and  Beauharnois,  who  nourished 
Its  young  strength  until  it  was  able  to  resist,  not  only  the 
powerful  confederacy  of  the  Five  Nations,  but  the  still 
more  powerful  league  of  New  England  and  the  other 
English  Colonies.  There,  also,  were  st'cn  he  sharp  in- 
tellectual face  of  Laval,  its  first  i)ishoi.,  wh  ^  (  •'^'anized  the 
Church  and  education  in  the  Colony  ;  and  oi  Talon,  wisest 
of  Intendants,  who  devoted  himself  to  'h:*  improvement  of 
agriculture,  the  increase  of  trade,  and  the  well  being  of  all 
the  King's  subjects,  in  New  rian*..\  And  one  more  striking 
portrait  was  there,  worthy  to  rank  among  the  statesmen 
and  rulers  of  New  Fi  ance — the  pale,  calm,  intellectual 
features  of  Mbre  Marie  de  I'lncarnation — the  first  superior 
of  the  Ursulines  of  Quebec,  who  in  obedience  to  heavenly 
visions,  as  she  believed,  left  France  to  found  schools  for 
the  children  of  the  new  Colonists,  and  who  taught  her  own 
womanly  gracfes  to  her  own  sex,  who  were  destined  to 
become  the  future  mothers  of  New  France. 

In  marked  contrast  with  the  military  uniforms  q£  the 
officers  surrounding  the  Council-table,  were  the  black  robes 
and  tonsured  heads  of  two  or  three  ecclesiastics,  who  had 
been  called  in  by  the  Governor  to  aid  the  council  with 
their  knowledge  and  advice.  There  were  the  Ahh6  Metavet 
of  the  Algonquins  of  the  North,  Pbre  Oubal,  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sionary of  the  Abenaquis  of  the  East,  and  his  confrere  La 
Richardie,  from  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Far  West ;  but  con- 
spicuous amon*^  the  able  and  influential  missionaries,  who 
were  the  real  n ^  '^f  the  ''"diau  nations  allied  with 
France,  was  '  >  la.  .ous  Suipicien,  Abb^  Piquet,  "the 
King's  missionary,"  as  he  was  styled  in  Royal  ordinances, 
and  the  Apostle  to  the  Iroquois,  whom  he  was  laboring  to 
convert  and  bring  over  to  the  side  of  France,  in  the  great 
dispute  raised  between  France  and  England  for  supremacy 
in  North  America.  "        ;   ^,    ,x..  ,.^   ,.i^  .«  ... 

Upon  the  wall  behind  the  Vice-Regal  chair,  hung  a  great 
map,  drawn  by  the  bold  hand  of  Ahh6  Piquet,  represent- 
ing the  claims  as  rell  as  actual  possessions  of  France,  io 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOVIS. 


lit 


Fieur  dc  Lys, 

f  plenis''    Lil- 

'  to  be  tram- 

s  English. 

a    ^ers  that  im- 

unite  the  In- 

ciiH  *.     He  had 

.ma  Nipissings 


America.  A  broad  red  line  I  eginning  in  Acadia,  traversed 
the  map  westerly  taking  in  Lake  Ontario,  and  running  soudl- 
erly  along  the  crests  and  ridvos  of  the  Appalachian  Moun- 
tains. It  was  traced  with  i  firm  hand  down  to  far  off 
LoM  siana,  claiming  for  France  the  gre«it  vallies  of  the 
Ohio,  the  Mississippi,  aiui  the  vast  territories  watered  by 
the  Missouri  and  the  Coloradt) — thus  hemming  the  En- 
glish in  bet W' on  the  walls  of  the  Appalachian  range  on 
the  west,  and  the  sea  coast  on  the  east. 

The  AbbtJ  Piquet  had  lately  in  a  ^'>oe  descended  the 
Belle  Rivifci  c,  as  the  voyageurs  cal  Va\  -.  noble  Ohio.  From 
its  source  to  its  junction  with  the  oh  La  Mississippi,  the 
Ahh6  had  planted  upon  its  conspii  ^jous  'utt-  the  ensigns 
of  France,  with  tablets  of  lead  b«Mi  i  Mi 
and  the  proud  inscription,  "Mam'/fus  yte  It 
ies  destined  after  a  fierce  strug<  .c  foi  mpJT 
pled  into  the  earth  by  the  feet  ot  the  v.ic  u 

The  Abb^,  deeply  impressed  with  the  la 
pended  over  the  Colony,  labored  zealou 
dian  nations  in  a  general  alliance  with 
already  brought  the  powerful  Algonquin 
into  his  scheme,  and  planted  them  at  Twr  vtountains,  as  a 
bulwark  to  protect  'he  city  of  Ville  Marie  -le  had  created 
a  great  schism  in  the  powerful  confed<  y  of  the  Five 
Nations,  by  adroitly  fanning  into  a  flame  ir  jealousy  of 
English  encroachments  upon  their  ancient  i  rjtory  on  Lake 
Ontario ;  and  bands  of  Iroquois  had,  not  ig  since,  held 
conference  with  the  (rovernor  of  New  Fran*  .  denouncing 
the  English  for  disregarding  their  exclusive  :  ;:ht  to  their 
own  country.  "  The  lands  we  possess,"  said  tlu  y  at  a  great 
council  in  Ville  Marie — ^"  the  lands  we  possess  were  given 
to  us  by  the  Master  of  Life,  and  we  acknowledge  to  hold  of 
no  other  r*  .^         .    ^  •   -^ 

The  Abbd  had  now  trong  hopes  of  perfecting  a  scheme, 
which  he  afterwards  accomplished.  A  powerful  body  of 
the  Iroquois  left  their  villages  and  castles  on  the  Mohawk 
and  Gennessee  rivers,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the  Abb^, 
settled  round  the  new  Fort  of  La  Presentation,  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  thus  barred  that  way  for  the  future,  against 
the  destructive  inroads  of  their  countrymen,  who  remained 
faithful  to  the  English  alliance. 

Pending  the  arrival  of  the  Royal  Intendant,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Coanfcil  indulge^',  freely  in  conversation,  more 


112 


THE  CHIEN  JJ^OR, 


«8i., 


or  less  bearing  upon  the  important  matters  to  be  discussed, 
the  state  of  he  country,  the  movements  of  the  enemy 
and  not  seldom  intermingled  rt  narks  of  dissatisfaction 
and  impatience  at  the  absence  of  the  Intendant. 

The  revel  at  Beaumanoir  was  well  known  to  them  ;  and 
eyes  flashed,  and  lips  curled  in  open  scorn,  at  the  well  un- 
derstood reason  of  the  Intendant's  delay. 

"  My  private  letters  by  the  Fleur  de  Lys"  remarked 
Beauharnois,  "  relate  among  other  Court  gossip,  that  orders 
would  be  sent  out  to  stop  the  defensive  works  at  Quebec, 
and  pull  down  what  is  built !  They  think  the  cost  of  walls 
round  our  city  can  be  better  bestowed  on  political  favorites, 
and  certain  high  personages  at  Court."  Beauharnois 
turned  towards  the  Governor  :  "  Has  your  Excellency  heard 
aught  of  this  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Yes  !  It  is  true  enough,  Beauharnois  1  I  also  have  re- 
ceived communications  to  that  effect ! "  replied  the  Gover- 
nor, with  an  effort  at  calmness,  which  ill  concealed  the 
shame  and  disgust  that  filled  his  soul.  ^  d  ^(  :j 

There  was  an  indignant  stir  among  the  officers,  and 
many  lips  seemed  trembling  with  speech.  The  impetuous 
Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  broke  the  fierce  sflence.  He  struck 
his  fist  heavily  on  the  table. 

"Ordered  us  to  stop  the  building  of  the  walls  of 
Quebec!  and  to  pull  down  what  we  have  done  by  virtue  of 
the  King's  corvee  I — Did  I  hear  your  Excellency  right  ?" 
repeated  he  in  a  tone  of  ufmost  incredulity.  "  The  King  is 
surely  mad  to  think  of  such  a  thing !" 

"Yes,  Rigaud  I  It  is  as  I  tell  you.  But  we  must  respect 
the  royal  command,  and  treat  his  Majesty's  name  as  be- 
comes loyal  servants.  ,.   M       ./ 

"  Ventre  saint  bleu  / — heard  ever  Canadian  or  Frenchman 
such  moonshine  madness  !  I  repeat  it — ^your  Excellency  I 
dismantle  Quebec  ?  How  in  God's  name  are  the  King's 
dominions  and  the  King's  subjects  to  be  defended."  Ri- 
gaud got  warmer.  He  was  fearless,  and  would,  as  every  one 
knew,  have  out  his  say,  had  the  King  been  present  in  per- 
son. "  Be  assured,  your  Excellency,  it  is  not  the  King  who 
orders  that  affront  to  his  faithful  colony.  It  is  the  K:  ig's 
Ministers — the  King's  mistresses — the  snuff-box  tapping 
courtiers  at  Versailles,  who  can  spend  the  public  money 
in  more  elegant  ways  than  in  raising  up  walls  round  our 
brave  old  city!  Ancient  honor  and  chivalry  of  France  I 
what  has  become  of  you  ?  '* 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


"3 


Rigaud  sat  down  angrily :  the  emotion  he  displayed 
too  much  in  accord  with  the  feelings  of  the  gallant  officers 
present,  to  excite  other  than  marks  of  approbation,  except 
among  a  few  personal  friends  of  the  Intendant,  who  took 
their  cue  from  the  avowed  wishes  of  the  Court. 

"  What  reason  does  his  Majesty  give  ? "  asked  La  Corne 
St.  Luc,  "for  this  singular  communication?" 

"  The  only  reasdn  given,  is  found  in  the  concluding 
paragraph  of  the  despatch.  I  will  allow  the  Secretary  to 
read  so  much  of  it,  and  no  more,  before  the  Intendant  ar- 
rives." The  Governor  looked  up  at  the  great  clock  in  the 
hall,  with  a  grim  glance  of  impatience — as  if  mentally 
calling  down  anything  but  a  blessing  upon  the  head  of  the 
loitering  Intendant.  ' 

"  The  Count  de  le  Galissonibre  ought  to  know,"  said 
the  despatch  sneeringly,  "  that  works  like  those  of  Quebec 
are  not  to  be  undertaken  by  the  Governors  of  Colonies, 
except  under  express  orders  from  the  King ;  and  therefore 
it  is  His  Majesty's  desire  that,  upon  the  reception  of  this 
dispatch,  your  Excellency  will  discontinue  the  works  that 
have  been  begun  upon  Quebec.  Extensive  fortifications  re- 
quire strong  garrisons  for  their  defence,  and  the  King's 
treasury  is  already  exhausted  by  the  extraordinary  expenses 
of  the  war  in  Europe.  It  cannot  at  the  same  time  carry 
on  the  war  in  Europe  and  meet  the  heavy  draughts  made 
upon  it,  from  North  America." 

The  Secretary  folded  the  despatch,  and  sat  down  with- 
out altering  a  line  of  his  impassive  face.  Not  so  the 
majority  of  the  officers  round  the  table :  they  were  excited, 
and  ready  to  spring  up  in  their  indignation.  The  King's 
name  restrained  them  all  but  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil,  who 
impetuously  burst  out  with  an  oath,  exclaiming :  "  They 
may  as  well  sell  New  France  at  once  to  the  enemy,  if  we 
are  not  to  defend  Quebec !  The  treasury  wants  money  for 
the  war  in  Europe  forsooth  !  No  doubt  it  wants  money 
for  the  war,  when  so  much  is  lavished  upon  the  pimps,  pan- 
ders and  harlots  of  the  Court !  " 

The  Governor  rose  suddenly — striking  the  table  with 
his  scabbard  to  stop  Rigaud  in  his  rash  and  dangerous 
speech.      ' 

"  Not  a  word  more  of  comment.  Chevalier  Rigaud  I " 
said  he,  with  a  sharp  impeiative  tone  that  cut  short  de- 
bate ;  **  not  another  word  !     His  Majesty's  name  and  thoso 


"4 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


v^\ 


% 


of  his  Ministers  must  be  spoken  here  respectfully,  or  not  at 
all !  Sit  down,  Chevalier  de  Vaudreuil ;  you  are  incon* 
siderate." 

"  I  obey  your  Excellency — I  am,  I  dare  say,  inco.isidcr- 
ate  !  but  I  am  right !  "  Rigaud's  passion  was  subsiding, 
but  not  spent.  He  oJjeyed  the  order,  however.  He  haJ 
had  his  say,  and  flung  himself  heavily  upon  his  chair. 

"The  King's  despatch  demands  respectful  and  loyal 
consideration,"  remarked  DeLery,  a  solid  grave  officer  of 
engineers,  "  and  I  doubt  not  that  upon  a  proper  remon- 
strance from  this  council.  His  Majesty  wil.  graciously  re- 
consider his  order.  The  fall  of  Louisbourg  is  ominous  of 
the  fall  of  Quebec.  It  is  imperative  to  fortify  the  city  in 
time  to  meet  the  threatened  invasion.  The  loss  of  Quebec 
would  be  the  loss  of  the  Colony ;  and  the  loss  of  the 
Colony,  the  disgrace  of  France  and  the  ruin  of  our  country." 

"I  cordially  agree  with  the  Chevalier  DeLery,"  said 
La  Corne  St.  Luc.  "  He  has  spoken  more  sense  than 
would  be  found  in  a  ship  load  of  such  despatches  as  that 
just  read  !  Nay,  your  Excellency,"  continued  the  old  offi- 
cer smiling — "  I  shall  not  affront  my  sovereign,  by  believ- 
ing that  so  ill-timed  a  missive  came  from  him  I  Depend 
upon  it.  His  Majesty  has  neither  seen  nor  sanctioned  it. 
It  is  the  work  of  the  Minister  and  his  mistresses  not  the 

King's."  ,    ,..;  ;,, 

"  La  Corne !  La  Corne  ! "  The  Governor  raised  his  finger 
with  a  warning  look.  "  We  will  not  discuss  the  point 
further,  until  we  are  favored  with  the  presence  and  opinion 
of  the  Intendant.  He  will  surely  be  here  shortly ! "  At 
this  moment  a  distant  noise  of  shouting  was  heard  in  some 
part  of  the  city.  ,  :     ..   ,  .    ,  . 

,^,>.  An  officer  of  the  day,  entered  the  Hall  in  great  haste, 
and  whispered  something  in  the  Governor's  ear  : — 

*'  A  riot  in  the  streets !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor, 
**  The  mob  attacking  the  Intendant !  You  do  not  say  so  ! 
Captain  Duval,  turn  out  the  whole  guard  at  once,  and  let 
Colonel  St.  Remy  take  the  command,  and  clear  the  way  for 
the  Intendant,  and  also  clear  the  streets  of  all  disturbers." 

A  number  of  officers  sprang  to  their  feet.  "  Keep  seated, 
gentlemen !  We  must  not  break  up  the  council,"  said  the 
Governor.  "  We  are  sure  to  have  the  Intendant  here  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  learn  the  cause  of  this  uproar.  It  is 
some  trifling  affair  of  noisy  habitansy  I  have  no  doubt." 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS, 


'■;'-r 


"S 


Another  loud  shout~-or  rather  yell  mad&  itself  distinctly 
beard  in  the  Council  Chamber.  "  It  is  the  people,  cheer* 
ing  the  Intendant  on  his  way  through  the  city  !  "  remarked 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  ironically.  "  Zounds !  what  a  vacamu 
they  make  !  See  what  it  is  to  be  popular  with  the  citizens 
of  Quebec." 

There  was  a  smile  all  round  the  table,  at  La  Come's 
sarcasm.     It  offended  a  few  friends  of  the  Intendant,  how-, 
ever. 

"  The  Chevalier  La  Corne  speaks  boldly  in  the  absence 
of  the  Intendant,"  said  Colonel  Leboeuf.  "  A  gentleman 
would  give  a  Louis  d'or  any  day  to  buy  a  whip  to  lash  the 
rabble,  sooner  than  a  sou  to  win  their  applause !  I  would 
not  give  a  red  herring  for  the  good  opinion  of  all  Quebec !  '* 

"  They  say  in  France,  Colonel,"  replied  La  Corne  "  St. 
Luc,  scornfully,  'that  King's  chaff  is  better  than  other 
people's  corn,  and  that  fish  in  the  market  is  cheaper  than 
fish  in  the  sea ! '  I  believe  it — and  can  prove  it  to  any 
gentleman  who  maintains  the  contrary  ! " 

There  was  a  laugh  at  La  Corne's  allusion  to  the  Mar- 
quise de  Pompadour,  whose  original  name,  of  Jeanne  Pois- 
son,  gave  rise  to  infinite  jests  and  sarcasms  among  the  peo- 
ple of  low  and  high  degree.  ^   '  >"  ^    • 

Colonel  Leboeuf,  choleric  as  he  was,  refrained  from 
pressing  the  quarrel  with  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  Ke  sat 
sulkily  smothering  his  wrath — longing  to  leave  the  Hall 
and  go  to  the  relief  of  the  Intendant — but  kept  against  his 
will  by  the  command  of  the  Governor. 

The  drums  of  the  Main  Guard  beat  the  assembly.  The 
clash  of  arms  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet  resounded  from 
the  court-yard  of  the  Chateau.  The  members  of  the 
Council  looked  out  of  the  windows  as  the  troops  formed  in 
column,  and  headed  by  Colonel  St.  Remy,  defiled  out  of 
the  Castle  gate  ;  the  thunder  of  their  drums  drowning 
every  other  sound  and  making  the  windows  shake,  as  they 
inarched  through  the  narrow  streets  to  the  scene  of  dis- 
turbance. 


;/]aV 


.\    ?^i 


^.I?.-'- 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  CHIEN   D  DR. 


11 
I 


*:Si 


m 


Jv  the  Rue  Buade,  a  street  commemorative  of  the  gaJ- 
laui  Frontenac,  stood  the  large,  imposing  edifice  newlv 
built  by  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  as  the  people  of  the  Col- 
ony fondly  called  Nicholas  Jaquin  Philibert,  the  great  and 
wealthy  merchant  of  Quebec,  and  their  champion  against 
the  odious  monopolies  of  the  grand  Company,  favored  by 
the  Intendaut.  ;   .     V.   /  '      /• 

The  edifice  was  of  stone,  spacious  and  lofty,  but  in 
style  solid,  plain  and  severe.  It  was  a  wonder  of  archi- 
tecture in  New  France,  and  the  talk  and  admiration  of  the 
Colony  from  Tadousac  to  Ville  Marie.  It  comprized  the 
city  residence  of  the  Bourgeois  as  well  as  suites  of  office^ 
and  ware-rooms  connected  with  his  immense  business. 

The  house  was  bare  of  architectural  adornments  ;  but 
on  its  fa9ade,  blazing  in  the  sun,  was  the  gilded  sculpture 
that  so  much  piqued  the  curiosity  of  both  citizens  and 
strangers,  and  was  the  talk  of  every  seigneurie  in  the  land. 
The  tablet  of  the  C/iien  D'or — the  Golden  Dog  with  its  enig- 
matical inscription,  looked  down  defiantly  upon  the  busy 
street  beneath,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen,  perplexing  the 
beholder  to  guess  its  meaning,  and  exciting  our  deepest 
sympathies  over  the  tragedy  of  which  it  remains  the  sole 
sad  memorial. 

Above  and  beneath  the  figure  of  a  couchant  dog,  knaw- 
ing  the  thigh  bone  of  a  -ran,  is  graven  the  weird  inscrip- 
tion, cut  deeply  in  the  stone,  as  if  ior  all  future  generatioDi 
to  read  and  ponder  over  'ts  meaning : —  .,     j     ,,. 


■rti 


"Je  suis  un  chien  quironge  I'os, 
En  le  rongeant  je  prends  mon  xt,\t» 
Un  temps  viendra  qui  n'est  pas  venu 
Que  je  mordrai  qui  m'aura  mordu." 
1736. 
Or  in  English  : — 

**  I  am  a  dog  that  gnaws  his  bone, 
I  couch  and  gnaw  it  all  alone — 
'     A  time  will  come,  which  is  not  yet, 
When  I'll  bite  him  by  whom  I'm  bit. ' 

116 


\J---i.  'MJ, 


•  ;t  ■ 


THE  CmSN  EfOR. 


"7 


The  magazines  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibett  presented 
not  only  an  epitome,  but  a  substantial  portion  of  the  com* 
merce  of  New  France.  Bales  of  furs,  which  had  been 
brought  down  in  fleets  of  canoes  from  the  wild,  almost  un- 
known regions  of  the  Northwest,  lay  piled  up  to  the  beams  j 
skins  of  Ae  smooth  beaver,  the  delicate  otter,  black  and* 
silver  fox,  so  rich  to  the  eye  and  silky  to  the  touch,  that 
the  proudest  beauties  longed  for  their  possession  ;  seal 
skins  to  trim  the  gowns  of  portly  burgomasters,  and  ermine 
to  adorn  the  robes  of  nobles  and  kings.  The  spoils  of 
the  wolf,  bear  and  buffalo,  worked  to  the  softness  of  cloth 
by  the  hands  of  Indian  women,  were  stored  *or  winter 
wear,  and  to  fill  the  sledges  with  warmth  and  comfort 
when  the  northwest  wind  freezes  the  snow  to  fine  dust, 
and  the  aurora  borealis  moves  in  stately  procession,  like 
an  army  of  spearmen,  across  the  northern  sky.  The  har- 
vests of  the  colonists,  the  corn,  the  wool,  the  flax,  the  tim- 
ber (enough  to  build  whole  navies),  and  mighty  pines  fit  to 
mast  the  tallest  admiral,  were  stored  upon  the  wharves  and 
in  the  warehouses  of  the  Bourgeois  upon  the  banks  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  with  iron  from  the  royal  forges  of  the  Three 
Rivers,  and  heaps  of  ginseng  from  the  forests,  a  product 
worth  its  weight  in  gold,  and  eagerly  exchanged  by  the 
Chinese  for  their  teas,  silks,  and  syce  silver. 

The  stately  mansion  of  Belmont  overlooking  the  pictur- 
esque valley  of  the  St.  Charles,  was  the  residence  proper  of 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  but  the  shadow  that  in  time  falls 
over  every  hearth  had  fallen  upon  his,  when  the  last  of  his 
children,  his  beloved  son  Pierre,  left  home  to  pursue  his  mili- 
tary studies  in  France.  During  Pierre's  absence  the  home 
at  Belmont,  although  kept  up  with  the  same  strict  atten- 
tion which  the  Bourgeois  paid  to  everything  under  his  rule, 
was  not  occupied  by  him.  He  preferred  his  city  mansion^ 
as  more  convenient  for  his  affairs,  and  resided  therein. 
His  partner  of  many  years  of  happy  wedded  life  had  been 
long  dead  \  she  left  no  void  in  his  heart  that  another  could 
fill,  but  he  kept  up  a  large  household  for  friendship  sake, 
and  was  lavish  in  his  hospitality.  In  secret  he  was  a 
grave,  solitary  man,  caring  for  the  present  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  thousands  dependant  on  him — ^living  much 
with  the  memory  of  the  dear  dead,  and  much  with  the 
hope  of  the  future  in  his  son  Pierre. 

The  Bourgeois  was  a  man  worth  looking  at,  and,  at  a 


■ 


ii8 


THE  CH/EAT  IT  OR, 


-4 


glance,  one  to  trus:  to,  whether  you  sought  the  strong  hand 
to  help,  the  wise  lead  to  counsel,  or  the  feeling  heart  to 
sympathize  with  you.  He  was  tall,  and  strongly  knit,  with  fea- 
tures of  a  h  gh  patrician  cast,  a  noble  head,  covered  thick 
with  grizzly  hair — one  of  those  heads  so  tenacious  of  life, 
Uiat  they  never  grow  bald,  but  carry  to  the  grave  the  snows 
of  a  hundred  years.  His  quick  grey  eyes  caught  youi 
meaning  ere  it  was  half  spoken.  A  nose  and  chin 
moulded  with  beauty  and  precision,  accentuated  his  hand- 
some face.  His  lips  were  grave  even  in  their  smile,  for 
gaiety  was  rarely  a  guest  in  the  heart  of  the  Bourgeois.  A 
man  keenly  susceptible  to  kindness,  but  strong  in  resent- 
ments and  not  to  be  placated  without  the  fullest  atone- 
ment. 

The  Bourgeois  sat  by  the  table  in  his  spacious,  well 
furnished  drawing  room,  which  overlooked  the  Rue  Buade, 
and  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  tall  new  cathedral  and  the 
trees  and  gardens  of  the  seminary.  He  was  engaged  in 
reading  letters  and  papers  just  arrived  from  France  by  the 
frigate,  rapidly  extracting  their  contents  and  pencilling 
on   their   margins  memos,  for    further    reference  to  his 

clerks.  't-     ^f^ic   ,-,;;, ul      a      •.,;.-    V-    :^^V!;-;il    i.c:L>,-- 

The  only  other  occupant  of  the  room  was  a  very 
elderly  lady,  in  a  black  gown  of  rigid  Huguenot  fashion. 
A  close  white  cap,  tied  under  her  chin,  setoff  to  the  worst 
advantage  her  sharp,  yet  kindly,  features.  Not  an  end  of 
ribbon  or  edge  of  lace  could  be  seen  to  point  to  one  hair- 
breadth of  indulgence  in  the  vanities  of  the  world  by  this 
strict  old  Puritan,  who,  under  this  unpromising  exterior, 
possessed  the  kindliest  heart  in  Christendom.  Her 
dress,  if  of  rigid  severity,  was  of  saintly  purity,  and  almost 
pained  the  eye  with  its  precision  and  neatness.  So  fond 
are  we  3f  some  freedom  from  over-much  care  as  from  over- 
much righteousness,  that  a  stray  tress,  a  loose  ribbon,  a 
little  rent  even,  will  relieve  the  eye  and  hold  it  with  a  sub- 
tle charm.  Under  the  snow  white  hair  of  Dame  Rochelle 
— ^for  she  it  was — the  worthy  old  housekeeper  and  ancient 
governess  of  the  House  of  Philibert,  you  saw  a  kind,  in- 
telligent face.  Her  dark  eyes  betrayed  her  Southern  origin, 
confirmed  by  her  speech,  which,  although  refined  by  cul- 
ture, still  retained  the  soft  intonation  and  melody  of  her 
native  Laiguedoc.  .   j    ■  •       -  <?        i  ,   ,>^    r  - c 

;  Dame  Roche  He,  the  daughter  of  an  ardent  Calvinist 


s 


H 


THE  cifiEN  lyoR. 


tt9 


minister,  was  born  in  the  fatal  year  of  the  revocation  o! 
the  Edict  of  Nantes,  when  Louis  XIV.  u(  did  the  glorious 
work  of  Henri  Quatre,  and  covered  France  with  persecu- 
tion and  civil  war,  filling  foreign  countries  with  the  elect 
of  her  population,  her  industry  and  her  wealth,  exiled  in 
the  name  of  religion.  -« 

Dame  Rochelle's  childhood  had  passed  in  the  tryinff 
scenes  of  the  great  persecution  ;  and  in  the  succeeding  civil 
wars  of  the  Cevennes,  she  lost  all  that  v;as  nearest 
and  dearest  to  her — her  father,  her  brothers,  her  kindred 
nearly  all,  and  lastly  a  gallant  gentleman  of  Dauphiny,  to 
whom  she  was  betrothed.  She  knelt  beside  him  at  his 
place  of  execution — or  martyrdom,  for  he  died  for  his 
faith — and  holding  his  hands  in  hers,  pledged  her  eter- 
nal fidelity  to  his  memory,  and  faithfully  kept  it  all  her 
life. 

The  Count  de  Philibert,  elder  brother  of  the  Bourgeois, 
was  an  officer  of  the  King ;  he  witnessed  this  sad  scene, 
took  pity  upon  the  hapless  girl,  and  gave  her  a  home  and  pro- 
tection with  his  family  in  the  Chateau  of  Philibert,  where 
she  spent  the  rest  of  her  life  until  the  Bourgeois  succeeded 
to  his  childless  brother.  In  the  ruin  of  his  house  she  would 
not  consent  to  leave  them,  but  followed  their  fortunes  to 
New  France.  She  had  been  the  faithful  friend  and  com- 
panion of  the  wife  of  the  Bourgeois  and  the  educator  of 
his  children,  and  was  now,  in  her  old  age,  the  trusted 
friend  and  manager  of  his  household.  Her  days  were 
divided  between  the  exercises  of  religion  and  the  prac- 
tical duties  of  life.  The  light  that  illumined  her,  though 
flowing  through  the  narrow  window  of  a  narrow  creed,  was 
still  light  of  divine  origin.  It  satisfied  her  faith,  and  filled 
her  with  resignation,  hope,  and  comfort.  '^  ; 

Her  three  studies  were  the  Bible,  the  hymns  of  Marot, 
and  the  sermons  of  the  famous  Jurieu.  She  had  listened 
,to  the  prophecies  of  Grande  Marie,  and  had  even  herself 
been  breathed  upon  on  the  top  of  Mount  Peira  by  the 
Huguenot  prophet  De. Serre.  '        ''i 

Good  Dame  Rochelle  was  not  without  a  feeling  that  at 
times  the  spiritual  gift  she  had  received  when  a  girl  made 
itself  manifest  by  intuitions  of  the  future,  which  were,  after 
all,  perhaps  only  imanations  of  her  natural  gocd  sense  and 
clear  intellect — the  foresight  of  a  pure  mind. 

The  wasting  persecutions  of  the  Calvinists  'n  the  moun- 


I 


H 


tfO 


rff£  cttiBu  nfOR. 


tains  of  the  Cevennes,  drove  men  and  women  wild  with 
desperate  fanaticism.  De  Serre  had  an  immense  follow- 
ing. He  assumed  to  impart  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  gift  of 
tongues  by  breathing  upon  the  believers.  The  refugees 
carried  his  doctrines  to  England,  and  handed  down  their 
singular  ideas  to  modern  times  ;  and  a  sect  may  still  be 
found  which  believes  in  the  gift  of  tongues  and  practices 
the  power  of  prophecying,  as  taught  originally  in  the 
Cevennes. 

The  good  dame  was  not  reading  this  morning,  although 
the  volume  before  her  lay  open.  Her  glasses  lay  upon  the 
page,  and  she  sat  musing  by  the  open  window,  seldom 
looking  out,  however,  for  her  thoughts  were  chiefly  inward. 
The  return  of  Pierre  Philibert,  her  foster  child,  had  filled 
her  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  and  she  was  pondering  in 
her  mind  the  details  of  a  festival  which  the  Bourgeois  in- 
tended to  give  in  honor  of  the  return  of  his  only  son. 

The  Bourgeois  had  finished  the  reading  of  his  packet 
of  letters,  and  sat  musmg  in  silence.  He,  too,  was  intently 
thinking  of  his  son.  His  face  was  filled  with  the  satisfac- 
tion of  old  Simeon  when  he  cried  out  of  the  fullness  of  his 
heart:  ^^ Domine /  nunc dimtttis / **  ,i  .     :r  r  i   '  ,.;    . 

"  Dame  Rochelle,"  said  he.  She  turned  promptly  to 
the  voice  of  her  master,  as  she  ever  insisted  on  calling 
him.  "Were  I  superstitious,  I  should  fear  that  my  great 
joy  at  Pierre's  return  might  be  the  prelude  to  some  great 
sorrow." 

"  God's  blessing  on  Pierre ! "  said  she  ;  "  he  can  only 
bring  joy  to  this  house.  Thank  the  Lord  for  what  he 
gives  and  what  He  takes  1  He  took  Pierre,  a  stripling 
from  his  home,  and  returns  him  a  great  man,  fit  to  ride  at 
the  King's  right  hand,  and  to  be  over  his  host  like  Benaiah, 
the  son  of  Jehoiada,  over  the  host  of  Solomon." 

"  Grand  merci  for  the  comparison.  Dame  I  "  said  the 
Bourgeois  smiling,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "  But 
Pierre  is  a  Frenchman,  and  would  prefer  commanding  a 
brigade  in  the  army  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  to  being  over 
the  host  of  King  Solomon.  But,"  continued  he,  gravely, 
"  I  am  strangely  happy  to-day,  Deborah," — he  was  wont 
to  call  her  Deborah  when  very  earnest — "  and  I  will  not 
anticipate  any  mischief  to  mar  my  happiness.  Pshaw  1  It 
is  only  the  reaction  of  over-excited  feelings.  I  am  weak 
in  the  strength  of  my  joy."  -«fil^- 


THE  cm  EN  Et  OR, 


121 


"  The  still  ibmall  vDice  speaks  to  us  in  that  way,  Master, 
fo  remind  us  to  place  our  trust  in  Heaven,  not  on  earth, 
where  all  is  transitory  and  uncertain  ;  for  if  a  man  live 
many  years,  and  r  uce  in  tliem  all,  let  him  remember  the 
days  of  darkness,  for  they  are  many !  We  are  no  strangers 
to  the  vanity  and  shadows  of  human  life.  Master!  Pierre's 
return  is  like  sunshine  breaking  through  the  clouds.  G«}d 
is  pleased  if  we  bask  in  the  sunshine  when  he  sends  it." 

"  Right,  Dame  !  and  so  we  will  I  The  old  walls  of  Bel- 
mont shall  ring  with  rejoicing  over  the  return  of  their  heir 
and  future  owner." 

The  Dame  looked  up  delightedly  at  the  remark  of  the 
Bourgeois.  She  knew  he  had  destined  Belmont  ai  a  resi- 
dence for  Pierre  ;  but  the  thought  suggested  in  her  mind 
was  perhaps  the  same  which  the  Bourgeois  had  mused 
upon  when  he  gave  expression  to  a  certain  anxiety. 

"  Master,"  said  she,  "  does  Pierre  know  that  the 
Chevalier  Bigot  was  concerned  in  the  false  accusations 
against  you,  and  that  it  was  he,  prompted  by  the  Cardinal 
and  the  Princess  de  Carignan,  who  enforced  the  unjust 
decree  of  the  Court  ? " 

"I  think  not,  Deborah..  I  never  told  Pierre  that  Bigot 
was  ever  more  than  the  avocat  du  Roi  in  my  persecu- 
tion. It  is  what  troubles  me  amidst  my  joy.  If  Pierre 
knew  that  the  Intendant  had  been  my  false  accuser  on  the 
part  of  the  Cardinal,  his  svord  would  not  rest  a  day  in  its 
scabbard  without  calling  Bigot  to  a  bloody  account.  In- 
deed, it  is  all  I  myself  can  do  to  refrain.  When  I  met  him  for 
the  first  time  here,  in  the  Palace  gate,  I  knew  him  again, 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  and  he  knew  me.  He  is 
a  bold  hound,  and  glared  back  at  me  without  shrinking. 
Had  he  smiled  I  should  have  struck  him ;  but  we  passed 
in  silence  with  a  salute  as  mortal  as  enemies  ever  gave  each 
other.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  I  wore  not  my  sword  that  day, 
for  I  felt  my  passion  rising — a  thing  I  abhor.  Pierre's 
young  blood  would  not  remain  still  if  he  knew  the  Inten- 
dant as  I  know  him.  But  I  dare  not  tell  him !  There 
would  be  bloodshed  at  once,  Deborah  !  "  '^-'  wvxis.^ 

"  I  fear  so,  Master !  I  trembled  at  Bigot  in  the  old 
land ;  I  tremble  at  him  here,  where  he  is  more  powerful 
than  before.  I  saw  him  passing  one  day.  He  stopped  to 
read  the  inscription  of  the  Golden  Dog.  His  face  was 
the  face  of  a  fiend  as  he  rode  hastily  away.  He  knew  well 
how  to  interpret  it." 


!\ 


i 


lii 


Its 


r//£  Cff/EAT  lyOK. 


**  Ha  I  you  did  not  tell  me  that  before,  Deborah !  • 
The  Bourgeois  rose  excitedly.  "  Bigot  read  it  all,  did  he  ? 
I  hope  every  letter  of  it  was  branded  on  his  soul  as  with 
red-hot  iron  I "  ■  ; 

"  Dear  Master,  that  is  an  unchristian  saying,  and  no- 
thing good  can  come  of  it.  *  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the 
Lord  I '     Our  worst  enemies  are  best  left  in  His  hands." 

The  Dame  was  proceeding  in  a  still  more  moralizing 
strain,  when  a  noise  arose  in  the  street  from  a  crowd  of 
persons,  habitans  iox  the  most  part,  congregated  round 
the  house.  The  noise  increased  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
stoppled  their  conversation,  and  both  the  Dame  and  the 
Bourgeois  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  increasing  multi- 
tude that  had  gathered  in  the  street. 

The  crowd  had  come  to  the  Rue  Buade,  to  see  the 
famous  tablet  of  the  Golden  Dog,  which  was  talked  of  in 
every  seigneurie  in  Now  France  ;  still  more,  perhaps,  to 
see  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  himself —the  great  merchant, 
who  contended  for  the  rights  of  the  habitans^  and  who 
would  not  yield  an  inch  to  the  Friponne. 

The  Bourgeois  looked  down  at  the  ever-increasing 
throng,  country-people  for  the  most  part,  with  their  wives 
with  not  a  few  citizens  whom  he  could  easily  distinguish  by 
their  dress  and  manner.  The  Bourgeois  stood  rather 
withdrawn  !>•  jm  the  front,  so  as  not  to  be  recognized,  for 
he  hated  intensely  anything  like  a  demonstration,  still  less 
an  ovation.  He  could  hear  many  loud  voices,  however, 
in  the  crowd,  and  caught  up  the  chief  topics  they  discussed 
with  each  other.  '  ^  -;     v.  i'  ,;    ;  j,^^h  ■a\'^. 

His  eyes  rested  several  times  on  a  wiry,  jerking  little 
fellow,  whom  he  recognized  as  Jean  La  Marche,  the  fiddler, 
a  censitaire  of  the  manor  of  Tilly.  He  was  a  well  known 
character^  and  had  drawn  a  large  circle  of  the  crowd  around 
himself. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  Bourgeois  Phi.ibert  1  "  exclaimed 
Joan  La  Marche.  "  He  is  the  bravest  merchant  in  New 
France — the  people's  friend.  Bless  the  Golden  Dog,  and 
curse  the  Friponne !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Golden  Dog,  and  curse  the  Friponne  1 " 
exclaimed  a  score  of  voices ;  "  won't  you  sing,  Jean  ? " 

"  Not  now ;  I  have  a  new  ballad  ready  on  the  Golden 
Dog,  which  I  shall  sing  to-night — that  is,  if  you  will  care  to 
listen  to  me."    Jean  said  this  with  a  very  demure  air  of 


yt*. ;-  •  ■.> j ir »  \ii  w wt* 


i  fit  EN  EtOR, 


•t3 


rccc^'f'  >o   of  ft 
for      lew  aria 

IS. 

ted  Ihey:  "but 
It  cmshed  in  the 


mock    modesty,    ^nowint     well       at   the 
new  ballad  from  him  woui<i  e(,         He  ft 
from  the  prima  donna  of  the  op    4  at  \\ 

"We  will  all  come  to  hear  it,  )ean  1 " 
take  care  of  your  fiddle,  or  you  w"  g( 
crowd." 

"  As  if  I  did  not  know  how  to  take  care  of  my  darling 
bab)  ! "  s:ad  Jean,  holding  his  violin  high  above  his  head. 
"  It  is  my  only  child  ;  it  will  laugh  or  cry,  and  love  and 
scold,  as  I  bid  it,  and  make  everybody  else  do  the  same 
when  I  touch  its  heart-strings."  Jean  had  brought  his 
violin  under  his  arm,  in  place  of  a  spade,  to  help  build  up 
the  walls  of  the  city.  He  had  never  heard  of  Amphion, 
with  his  lyre,  building  up  the  walls  of  Thebes ;  but  Jean 
knew  that  in  his  violin  lay  a  power  of  work,  by  other  hands,  • 
if  he  played  while  they  labored.  "It  lightened  toil  and 
made  work  go  merrily  as  the  bells  of  Tilly  at  a  wedding ;" 
said  he. 

There  was  immense  talk,  with  plenty  of  laughter  and 
no  thought  of  mischief,  among  the  crowd.  The  habitans 
of  en  haut  and  the  habitans  of  en  bas  commingled,  as  they 
rarely  did,  in  a  friendly  way.  •  Nor  was  anything  to  pro- 
voke a  quarrel  said  even  to  the  Acadians,  whose  rude 
patois  was  a  source  of  merry  jest  to  the  better-speaking 
Canadians. 

The  Acadians  had  flocked  in  great  numbers  into 
Quebec,  on  the  seizure  of  their  Province  by  the  English — 
sturdy,  robust,  quarrelsome  fellows,  who  went  about  chal- 
lenging people  in  their  reckless  way, — Etions pas  mon  maUre^ 
monsieur?  —  but  all  were  civil  to-day,  and  *uques  were 
pulled  off,  and  bows  exchanged,  in  a  style  of  easy  polite- 
ness that  would  not  have  shamed  the  streets  of  Paris. 

The  crowd  kept  increasing  in  the  Rue  Buade.  The 
^wo  sturdy  beggars,who  vigorously  kept  their  places  on  the 
stone  steps  of  the  barrier  or  gateway  of  the  Basse  Ville, 
reaped  an  unusual  harvest  of  the  smallest  coin — Max 
Grimau,  an  old  disabled  soldier,  in  ragged  uniform,  which 
he  had  worn  at  the  defence  of  Prague,  under  the  Marshal 
de  Belleisle,  and  blind  Barteniy,  a  mendicant  born;  the 
former,  loud-tongued  and  importunate,  the  latter,  silent  and 
only  holding  out  a  shaking  hand  for  charity.  No  Finance 
Minister  or  Royal  Intendant  studied  rriore  earnestly  the 
problem  how  to  tax  the  kingdom,  than  Max  and  Blind 


\ 

K 1 


l«4 


TUH  CHl&N  LtOi 


P 


Ilartemy  how  to  toll  the  passers  by,  and  with  less  succeii^ 
perhaps. 

To-day  was  a  red-letter  day  for  the  sturdy  beggars,  for 
the  news  flew  fast  that  an  ovation  of  some  popular  kind 
was  to  be  given  to  the  Bourgeois  Philibert.  The  habitant 
came  trooping  up  the  rough  mountain  road  that  leadti  from 
the  Basse  Villc  to  the  Upper  Town,  and  up  the  long  stairs, 
lined  with  the  stalls  of  Basque  pedlars,  cheating,  In  ^ua- 
cious  varlcts ;  which  formed  a  by-way  from  the  lower  regions 
of  the  Rue  de  Champlain,  a  breakneck  thoroughfare,  little 
liked  by  the  old  and  asthmatical,  but  nothing  to  the  sturdy 
"climbers,"  as  the  ?iabUans  called  the  lads  of  Quebec,  or 
the  light-footed  lasses,  who  displayed  their  trim  ankles,  as 
they  new  up  the  breezy  steps  to  church  or  market.         ;i.  > 

Max  Grimau  and  Blind  Bartemy  had  ceased  counting 
their  coins.  The  passers-by  came  up  in  still  increasing  num- 
bers, unt'l  the  street,  from  the  barrier  of  the  Basse  Ville  to 
the  Cathedral,  was  filled  with  a  noisy,  good-humored  crowd, 
without  an  object,  except  to  stare  at  the  Golden  Dog,  and  a 
desire  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert. 

The  crowd  had  become  very  dense,  when  a  troop  of 
gentlemen  rode  at  full  speed  into  the  Rue  Buade,  and, 
after  trying  recklessly  to  force  their  way  through,  came  to 
a  sudden  halt,  in  the  midst  of  the  surging  mass. 

The  Intendant,  Cadet  and  Varin,  had  ridden  from 
Beaumanoir,  followed  by  a  train  of  still  flushed  guests, 
who,  after  a  hasty  purification,  had  returned  with  their  host 
to  the  city — a  noisy  troop,  loquacious,  laughing,  shouting, 
as  is  the  wont  of  men,  reckless  at  all  times,  and  still  more 
defiant,  when  under  the  influence  of  wine. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  rabble,  Cadet  ?  "  asked 
Bigot ;  "  they  seem  to  be  no  friends  of  yours.  That  fellow 
is  wishing  you  in  a  hot  place  I "  added  Bigot,  laughing,  as 
he  pointed  out  a  habitan  who  was  shouting  ^^Abas  Cadet  P^ 

"  Nor  friends  of  yours,  either,"  replied  Cadet.  "  They 
have  net  recognized  you  yet.  Bigot.  When  they  do,  they 
will  wish  you  in  the  hottest  place  of  ill  1 " 
^  The  Intendant  was  not  known  personally  to  the  habi' 
tans^  as  were  Cadet,  Varin  and  the  rest.  Loud  shouts  and 
execrations  were  freely  vented  against  these,  as  soon  aa 
they  were  recognized. 

**  Has  this  rabble  waylaid  us  to  insult  us  ? "  asked  Bigot. 
But  it  can  hardly  be  that  they  knew  oi  our  return  to  the 


THE  CHIRN  DtOR. 


«•! 


city  to-day."  The  Intendant  beg.\n  to  jerk  hift  horse  round 
impatiently,  but  without  avail. 

"  Oh,  no,  your  Excellency !  it  is  the  rabble  which  lh« 
Governor  has  summoned  to  the  King's  corvie.  They  are 
paying  their  respects  to  the  Golden  Dog,  wliich  is  the  idol 
the  mob  worships  just  now.  They  did  not  expect  us  to 
interrupt  their  devotions,  I  fancy." 

"  The  vile  moutons  I  their  fleece  is  not  worth  the 
shearing  I "  exclaimed  Bigot,  angrily,  at  the  mention  of  the 
Golden  Dog,  which,  as  he  glanced  upwards  seemed  to 
glare  defiantly  upon  him. 

"  Clear  the  way,  villains ! "  cried  Bigot,  loudly,  while 
darting  his  horse  into  the  crowd.  "  Plunge  that  Flanders 
cart-horse  of  yours  into  them,  Cadet,  and  do  not  spare 
their  toes!" 

Cadet's  rough  disposition  chimed  wel'  .  uie  Inten- 
dant's  wish.  "  Come  on,  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  you,"  cried 
he,  "  give  spur  and  fight  your  way  through  the  rabble." 

The  whole  troop  plunged  madly  at  tho  crowd  striking 
right  and  left  vrnh.  their  heavy  hunting  whips.  A  violent 
scuffle  ensued ;  many  habitans  were  ridden  down  and 
some  of  the  horsemen  dismounted.  The  Intendant's  Gas- 
con blood  got  furious.  He  struck  heavily,  right  and  left, 
and  many  a  bleeding  tuque  marked  his  track  in  the  crowd. 

The  habitans  recognized  him  at  last,  and  a  tremen- 
dous yell  burst  out.  "  Long  live  the  Golden  Dog !  Down 
with  the  Friponne  I "  while  the  more  bold  ventured  on  the 
cry.  "  Down  with  the  Intendant,  and  the  thieves  of  the 
Grand  Company ! " 

Fortunately  for  the  troop  of  horsemen,  the  habitans 
were  utterly  unarmed.  But  stones  began  to  be  thrown, 
and  efforts  were  made  by  them,  not  always  unsuccessfully, 
to  pull  the  riders  off  their  horses.  Poor  Jean  La  Marche's 
darling  child,  his  favorite  viol'.n,  was  crushed  at  the  first 
charge.  Jean  rushed  at  the  In  andant's  bridle,  and  received 
a  blow  which  levelled  him. 

The  Intendant  and  all  the  troop  now  drew  their  swords. 
A  bloody  catastrophe  seemed  impending,  when  the  Bour- 
geois Philibert,  seeing  the  state  of  affairs  dispatched  a 
messenger  with  tidings  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and 
rushed  himself  into  the  street  amidst  the  surging  crowd 
imploring,  threatening  and  compelling  them  to  give  way.  < 
.   He  was  soon  recognized,  and  cheered  by  the  people  ; 


1 


is6 


THE  CHI  EN  nOR. 


% 


.  ft:. 


but  even  his  influence  might  have  failed  to  calm  the  fiery 
passions  excited  by  the  Intendant's  violence,  had  not  the 
drums  of  the  approaching  soldiery  suddenly  resounded 
above  the  noise  of  the  riot.  In  a  few  minutes,  long  files 
of  glittering  bayonets  were  seen  streaming  down  the  Rue 
du  Fort.  Colonel  St.  Remi  rode  at  their  head,  forming 
his  troops  in  position  to  charge  the  crowd.  The  Colonel 
saw  at  once  the  state  of  affairs,  and  being  a  man  of  judg- 
ment, commanded  peace  before  resorting  to  force.  He 
was  at  once  obeyed.  The  people  stood  still  and  in  silence. 
They  fell  back  quietly  before  the  troops.  They  had  no 
purpose  to  resist  the  authorities, — indeed,  had  no  purpose 
whatever.  A  way  was  made  clear  by  the  soldiers,  and  the 
Intendant  and  his  friends  were  extricated  from  their  danger. 

They  rode  at  once  out  of  the  mob,  amid  a  volley  of 
execrations,  which  were  replied  to  by  angry  oaths  and 
threats  of  the  cavaliers  as  they  galloped  across  the  Place 
d'Armes,  and  rode  pell-mell  into  the  gateway  of  the  Chateau 
of  St.  Louis. 

The  crowd,  relieved  of  their  presence,  grew  calm  ;  and 
some  of  the  more  timid  of  them  got  apprehensive  of  the 
consequences  of  this  outrage  upon  the  Royal  Intendant. 
They  dispersed  quietly,  singly,  and  in  groups,  each  one 
hoping  that  he  might  not  be  called  upon  to  account  for  the 
day's  proceedings. 

The  Intendant  and  his  cortege  of  friends  rode  furiously 
into  the  court-yard  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  dishevelled, 
bespattered  and  some  of  them  hatless.  They  dismounted, 
and  foaming  with  rage,  rushed  through  the  lobbies  and 
with  heavy  trampling  of  feet,  clattering  of  scabbards,  and 
a  bedlam  of  angry  tongues,  burst  into  the  Council  Cham- 
ber. 

The  Intendant's  eyes  shot  fire.  His  Gascon  blood  was 
at  fever  heat,  flushing  his  swarthy  cheek  like  the  purple  hue 
of  a  hurricane.  He  rushed  at  once  to  the  Council  table, 
and  seeing  the  Governor,  saluted  him,  but  spoke  in  tones 
forcibly  kept  under  by  a  violent  effort. 

"  Your  Excellency  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Council  will 
excuse  our  delay,"  shouted  Bigot,  "when  I  inform  you 
that  /,  the  Royal  Intendant  of  New  France,  have  been 
insulted,  pelted,  and  my  very  life  threatened  by  a  seditious 
mob  congregated  in  the  streets  of  Quebec."  v   •  •vtfh, 

"  I  grieve  much,  and  sympathize  with  your  Excellency's 


THE  CniEN  D'OR. 


Iff 


indignation,"  replied  the  Governor,  warmly,  '*I  rejoice  you 
have  escaped  unhurt.  I  dispatched  the  troops  to  your 
assistance,  but  have  not  yet  learned  the  cause  of  the  not." 

"  The  cause  of  the  riot  was  the  popular  hafed  of  my- 
self, for  enforcing  the  Royal  ordinances,  and  the  seditious 
example  set  the  rabble  by  the  notorious  merchant,  Phili- 
bert,  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  mischief  in  New  France." 

The  Governor  looked  fixedly  at  the  Intendant,  as  he 
replied  quietly:  "The  Sieur  Philibert,  although  a  mer- 
chant, is  a  gentleman  of  birth  and  loyal  principles,  and 
would  be  the  last  man  alive,  I  think,  to  excite  a  riot.  Did 
you  see  the  Bourgeois,  Chevalier  ? " 

"  The  crowd  filled  the  street  near  his  magazines,  cheer- 
ing for  the  Bourgeois  and  the  Golden  Dog.  We  rode  up 
and  endeavored  to  force  our  way  through.  But  I  did  not 
see  the  Bourgeois,  himself,  until  the  disturbance  had,  at- 
tained its  full  proportions." 

"  And  then,  your  Excellency  ?  Surely  the  Bourgeois 
was  not  encouraging  the  mob,  or  participating  in  the 
riot  ? " 

"  No !  I  do  not  charge  him  with  participating  in  the 
riot,  although  the  mob  were  all  his  friends  and  partisans. 
Moreover,"  said  Bigot,  frankly,  for  he  felt  he  owed  his 
safety  to  the  interference  of  the  Bourgeois,  "  it  would  be 
unfair  not  to  acknowledge  that  he  did  what  he  could  to 
protect  us  from  the  rabble.  I  charge  Philibert  with  sowing 
the  sedition  that  caused  the  riot,  not  with  rioting  himself." 

**  But  I  accuse  him  of  both,  and  of  all  the  mob  has 
done ! "  thundered  Varin,  enraged  to  hear  the  Intendant 
speak  with  moderation  and  justice.  "  The  house  of  the 
Golden  Dog  is  a  den  of  traitors.  It  ought  to  be  pulled 
clown,  and  its  stones  built  into  a  monument  of  infamy,  over 
its  owner,  hung  like  a  dog  in  the  market-place."      «i   'i!! 

"  Silence,  Varin  !  "   exclaimed    the  Governor    sternly. 
'  I  will  not  hear  the  Sieur  Philibert  spoken  of  in  these 
injurious   terms.     The    Intendant   does   not  charge   him 
with  this  disturbance ;  neither  shall  you." 

*  Par  Dieu  !  you  shall  not,  Varin  1 "  burst  in  La  Come 
St.  Luc,  roused  to  unusual  wrath  by  the  opprobrium  heaped 
upon  his  friend  the  Bourgeois.  "  And  you  shall  answer 
to  ifle  for  that  you  have  said  !  "  i||f  *?)  ,, 

"La  Cornel  LaCorne!"  The  Governor  saw  a  chal- 
lenge impending,  and  interposed  with  vehemence.     "  Thui 


Itt 


THE  CHJEN  D'OR. 


i    ; 

■' 
■ 

il 

;1 

,! 

)) 

,1 
ij 

I!,    ';    « 


b  a  council  of  war,  and  not  a  place  for  recriminations. 
Sit  down,  dear  old  friend,  and  aid  me  to  get  on  with  the 
businesii  of  the  King  and  his  .Colony,  which  we  are  here 
met  to  consider." 

The  appeal  went  to  the  heart  of  La  Corne.  lie  sat 
down.  "  You  have  spoken  generously.  Chevalier  Bigot, 
respecting  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,"  continued  the  Gover- 
nor. "  I  am  pleased  that  you  have  done  so.  My  aide- 
de-Camp,  Colonel  Philibert,  who  is  just  entering  the 
Council,  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  your  Excellency  does 
justice  to  his  father  in  this  matter." 

"  The  blessing  of  St.  Bennet's  boots  upon  such  justice," 
muttered  Cadet  to  himself.  **  I  was  a  fool  not  to  run  my 
sword  through  Philibert,  when  I  had  the  chance." 

The  Governor  repeated  to  Colonel  Philibert  what  had 
be^  said  by  Bigot. 

Colonel  Philibert  bowed  to  the  Intendant.  "  I  am 
under  obligation  to  the  Chevalier  Bigot,"  said  he,  "but 
it  astonishes  me  much  that  any  one  should  dare  implicate 
my  father  in  such  a  disturbance.  Certainly  the  Intendant 
does  him  but  justice." 

This  remark  was  not  pleasing  to  Bigot,  who  hated 
Colonel  Philibert  equally  with  his  father.  "  I  merely  said 
he  had  not  participated  in  the  riot.  Colonel  Philibert, 
which  was  true.  I  did  not  excuse  your  father  for  being 
at  the  head  of  the  party  among  whom  these  outrages 
arise.  I  simply  spoke  truth.  Colonel  Philibert.  I  do  not 
eke  out  by  the  inch  my  opinion  of  any  man.  I  care  not 
for  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  more  than  for  the  meanest  blue 
cap  in  his  following." 

This  was  an  ungracious  speech.  Bigot  meant  it  to  be 
such.  He  repented  almost  of  the  witness  he  had  borne 
to  the  Bourgeois*  endeavors  to  quell  the  mob.  But  he  was 
loo  profoundly  indifferent  to  men's  opinions  respecting 
himself  to  care  to  lie.  Truth  was  easier  than  lying,  and 
suited  better  his  moral  hardihood.  Not  that  he  loved 
truth  for  its  own  sake — ^far  from  it ;  but  lying  is  born  of 
cowardice,  and  Bigot  was  no  coward  ;  he  feared  no  one, 
respected  no  one.  When  he  did  lie,  it  was  with  deliberate 
purpose  and  without  scruple,  but  he  only  did  it  when  the 
object,  in  ||p  judgment,  was  worth  lying  for,  and  even 
then  he  felt  self-accused  of  unmanly  conduct. 

Colonel  Philibert  resented  the  Intendant  s  sneer  at 


THE  CJI/EN  D'OR. 


139 


his  father.  He  faced  Bigot,  saying  to  him  :  "  The  Chev- 
alier Bigot  has  done  but  simple  justice  to  my  father  with 
reference  to  his  conduct  in  regard  to  the  riot. '  But  let  the 
Intendant  recollect  that,  although  a  merchant,  my  father  is 
above  all  things  a  Norman  gentleman,  who  never  swerved 
a  hair-breadth  from  the  path  of  honor — a  gentleman 
whose  anci^.nt  nobility  would  dignify  even  the  Royal 
Intendant."  Bigot  looked  daggers  at  this  thrust  at  his 
own  comparatively  humble  origin.  "And  this  I  have 
further  to  say,"  continued  Philibert,  looking  straight  in  the 
eyes  of  Bigot,  Varin  and  Cadet,  "  whoever  impugns  my  , 
father's  honor  impugns  mine  ;  and  no  man,  high  or  low, 
shall  do  that  and  escape  chastisement ! " 

The  greater  part  of  the  officers  seated  round  the 
Council  Board,  listened  with  marks  of  approval  to  Phili- 
bert's  vindication  of  his  father.  But  no  one  challenged 
his  words,  although  dark  ominous  looks  glanced  from  one 
to  another  among  the  friends  of  the  Intendant.  Bigot 
smothered  his  anger  for  the  present,  however ;  and  to  pre- 
vent further  reply  from  his  followers,  he  rose,  and  bowing 
to  the  Governor,  begged  His  Excellency  to  open  the 
Council. 

"  We  have  delayed  the  business  of  the  King  too  long 
with  these  persoiKil  recriminations,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
leave  this  riot  to  be  dealt  v/ith  by  the  King's  Courts,  who 
will  sharply  punish  both  instigators  and  actors  in  this 
outrage  upon  the  Royal  authority." 

These  words  seemed  to  end  the  dispute  for  the  present 


CHAPTER  XIV, 

THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAR 


The  Council  now  opened  in  due  form.  The  Secretary 
read  the  Royal  despatches,  which  were  listened  to  with 
attention  and  respect,  although  with  looks  of  dissent,  in 
the  countenances  of  many  of  the  officers. 

The  Governor  rose,  and  in  a  quiet,  almost  a  solemn 
strain,  addressed  the  Council      "  Gentlemen,"  said  he^ 


13© 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR 


**  From  the  tenor  of  the  Royal  dispatches,  just  read  by  the 
Secretary,  it  is  clear  that  our  beloved  New  France  is  in 
great  danger.  The  King,  overwhelmed  by  the  powers  in 
alliance  against  him,  can  no  longer  reinforce  our  army 
here.  The  English  fleet  is  supreme — for  the  moment 
only,  I  hope — "  added  the  Governor,  as  if  with  a  prevision 
of  his  own  future  triumphs  on  the  ocean.  '*  English  troops 
are  pouring  into  New  York  and  Boston,  to  combine  with 
the  militia  of  New  England  and  the  middle  colonies  in  a 
grand  attack  upon  New  France.  They  have  commenced 
the  erection  of  a  great  fort  at  Chouagen,  on  Lake  Ontario, 
to  dispute  supremacy  with  our  stronghold  at  Niagara,  and 
the  gates  of  Carillon  may  ere  long  have  to  prove  their 
strength  in  keeping  the  enemy  out  of  the  Valley  of  the 
Richelieu.  I  fear  not  for  Carillon,  gentlemen,  in  the 
ward  of  the  gallant  Count  de  Lusignan,  whom  I  am  glad 
to  see  at  our  Council.     I  think  Carillon  is  safe." 

The  Count  de  Lusignan,  a  grey-headed  officer,  of 
soldierly  bearing,  bowed  low  to  this  compliment  from  the 
Governor.  "  I  ask  the  Count  de  Lusignan,"  continued  the 
Governor,  "  what  he  thinks  would  result  from  our  with- 
drawing the  garrison  from  Carillon,  as  is  suggested  in 
the  despatches ? "    ^   :>       •  d    A;      ■  *^    -  ' 

*'  The  Five  Nations  would  be  on  tife  Richelieu  in  a 
week,  and  the  English  in  Montreal,  a  month  after  such 
a.  piece  of  folly  on  our  part,"  exclaimed  the  Count  de 
Lusignan. 

"You  cannot  counsel  the  abandonment  of  Carillon, 
then.  Count?"  A  smile  played  over  the  face  of  the 
Governor,  as  if  he  too  felt  the  absurdity  of  his  question. 

"  Not  till  Quebec  itself  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands. 
When  that  happens.  His  Majesty  will  need  another  adviser 
in  the  place  of  the  old  Count  de  Lusignan." 

"  Well  spoken.  Count !  In  your  hands  Carillon  is  safe, 
and  will  one  day,  should  the  enemy  assail  it,  be  covered 
with  wreaths  of  victory,  and  its  flag  be  the  glory  of  New 
France." 

"  So  be  it,  Goven.or.  Give  me  but  the  Ro3'^al  Roussillon, 
and  I  J  ledge  you  neither  English,  Dutch,  nor  Iroquois, 
shall  ever  cross  the  waters  of  St.  Sacrament." 

"You  speak  like  your  ancestor,  the  crusader.  Count. 
But  I  cannot  spare  the  Royal  Roussillon.  Think  you, 
vou  can  hold  Carillon  with  your  present  garrison  ? " 


THE  dlllEl^  D'OK, 


»3« 


"Against  all  the  force  of  New  England.  But  I  cannot 
promise  the  same  against  the  English  Regulars,  now  land- 
ing at  New  York."     -M^'^  ^:^  »to 

"They  are  the  same  whom  the  king  defeated  at 
Fontenoy,  are  they  not  ?  "  interrupted  the  Intendant.  who, 
courtier  as  he  was,  disliked  the  tenor  of  the  Royal  de»» 
patches  as  much  as  any  officer  present — all  the  moie  as 
he  knew  La  Pompadour  was  advising  peace  out  of  a 
woman's  considerations,  rather  than  upholding  the  glory 
of  France,    s-ri-.'.-;.M:«  -..:-:  .  --■>..';.,  ,-;;•?  -,  . 

"  Among  them  are  many  troops  who  fought  us  at 
Fontenoy.  I  learned  the  fact  from  an  English  prisoner, 
whom  our  Indians  brought  in  from  Fort  Lydius,"  replied 
the  Count  de  Lusignan. 

"Well,  the  more  of  them  the  merrier,"  laughed  La 
Corne  St.  Luc.  "  The  bigger  the  prize  the  richer  they 
who  take  it.  I'he  treasure  chests  of  the  English  will 
make  up  for  the  beggarly  packs  of  the  New  Englanders. 
Dried  stock  fish,  and  eel  skin  garters,  to  drive  away  the 
rheumatism,  were  the  usual  prizes  we  got  from  them  down 
in  Acadia ! " 

"  The  English  of  Fontenoy  are  not  such  despicable 
foes,"  remarked  the  Chevalier  de  Lery.  "  They  sufficed 
to  take  Louisbourg,  and  if  we  discontinue  our  walls,  will 
suffice  to  take  Quebec." 

*'  Louisbourg  was  not  taken  by  them^  but  fell  through 
the  mutiny  of  the  base  Swiss  •!  "  replied  Bigot,  touched 
sharply  by  any  allusion  to  that  fortress,  where  he  had 
figured  so  discreditably ;  "  the  vile  hirelings  demanded 
money  of  their  commander,  when'  they  should  have  drawn 
the  blood  of  the  enemy  I  "  added  he  angrily. 

"  Satan  is  bold,  but  he  would  blush  in  the  presence  of 
Bigot,"  remarked  La  Corns  St.  Luc  to  an  Acadian  officer, 
seated  next  him.  "  Bigot  kept  the  King's  treasure,  aild 
defrauded  the  soldiers  of  their  pay :  hence  the  mutiny  and 
the  fall  of  Louisbourg."     •  -   ;t-       ... 

"  It  is  what  the  whole  army  knows,"  replied  the^  officer. 
"  But  hark  1  the  Abbe  Piquet  is  going  to  speak.  It  is  a 
new  thing  to  see  clergy  in  a  council  of  war !  " 

"  No  one  has  a  better  right  to  speak  here  than  the 
Abbd  Piquet,"  repLed  La  Corne.  ''  No  one  has  sent 
more  Indian  allies  into  the  field  to  fight  for  New  France 
than  the  patriotic  Abbd."   .    y      -       • 


*>v»..#-,rf  . 


t^ 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR 


I: 


I.  i 


1  y^i'. 


8,-i 


Other  officers  did  not  share  the  generous  sentiments  of 
La  Come  St  Luc.  They  thought  it  derogatory  to  puro 
military  men  to  listen  to  a  priest  on  the  alfairs  of  the  war. 

"The  Marshal  de  Belleisle  would  not  permit  even 
Cardinal  de  Fleury  to  put  his  red  stockings  beneath  his 
Council  table,"  remarked  a  strict  martinet  of  La  Serre. 
"*  And  here  we  have  a  whole  flock  of  black  gowns  darken- 
ing our  regimentals  !     What  would  Voltaire  say?" 

*  He  would  say,  that  when  priests  turn  soldiers,  it  is 
time  for  soldiers  to  turn  tinkers,  and  mend  holes  in  pots, 
instead  of  making  holes  in  our  enemies,"  replied  his  com- 
panion, a  fashionable  free  thinker  of  the  day. 

"Well,  I  am  ready  to  turn  pedlar  any  day !  The  King's 
army  will  go  to  the  dogs  fast  enough  since  the  Governor 
commissions  Recollets  and  Jesuits  to  act  as  Royal  officers," 
was  the  petulant  remark  of  another  officer  of  La  Serre. 

A  strong  prejudice  existed  in  the  army  against  the  Abbd 
Piquet  for  his  opposition  to  the  presence  of  French  troops 
in  his  Indian  missionary  villages.  They  demoralized  his 
neophytes,  and  many  of  the  officers  shared  in  the  lucrative 
traffic  of  fire  water  to  the  Indians.  The  Abbe  was  zealous 
in  stopping  those  abuses,  and  the  officers  complained  bit- 
terly of  his  over-protection  of  the  Indians. 

The  famous  "  King's  Missionary,"  as  he  was  called, 
stood  up  with  an  air  of  dignity  and  auljiority  that  seemed 
to  assert  his  right  to  be  present  in  the  council  of  war,  for 
the  scornful  glances  of  many  of  the  officers  had  not  escaped 
his  quick  glance. 

The  keen  black  eyes,  thin  resolute  lips,  and  high  swarthy 
forehead  of  the  Abb^,  wduld  have  well  become  the  plumed 
hat  of  a  Marshal  of  France.  His  loose  black  robe,  looped 
up  for  freedom,  reminded  one  of  a  grave  Senator  of  Venice 
whose  eye  never  quailea  at  any  policy,  however  severe,  if 
required  for  the  safety  of  the  state. 

The  Abbd  held  in  his  hand  a  large  roll  of  wampum,  the 
tokens  of  treaties  made  by  him  with  the  Indian  nations  of 
the  west,  pledging  their  alliance  and  aid  to  the  great  On- 
ontio,  as  they  called  the  Governor  of  New  France. 

"  My  Lord  Governor  !  "  said  the  Abb^,  placing  his  great 
rod  on  the  table, — "  I  thank  you  for  admitting  the  mis- 
sionaries to  the  council.  We  appear  less  as  Churchmen  on 
this  occasion  than  as  the  King's  Ambassadors,  although  I 
trust  that  all  we  have  done  will  redound  to  God's  glory, 


THE  (  OUNCIL  Of  WAk. 


«33 


and  the  spread  of  religion  among  the  heathen.  These  belts 
of  wampum  are  tokens  of  the  treaties  we  have  made  with 
the  numerous  and  warlike  tribes  of  the  great  west  1  bear 
to  the  Governor  pledges  of  alliance  from  the  Miamls  and 
Shawnees  of  the  great  valley  of  the  Belle  Rivifere,  which 
they  call  the  Ohio.  I  am  commissioned  to  tell  Onontio, 
that  they  are  at  peace  with  the  King  and  at  war  with  his 
enemies  from  this  time  forth  forever.  I  have  set  up  the 
arms  of  France  on  the  banks  of  the  Belle  Ri\ikre,  and 
claimed  all  its  lands  and  waters  as  the  just  appanage  of 
our  soveieign  from  the  Alleghanies  to  the  plantations  of 
Louisiana.  The  Sacs  and  Foxes,  of  the  Mississippi ;  the 
Pottawatomies,  Winnebagoes  and  Chippewas  of  a  hundred 
bands  who  fish  in  the  great  rivers  and  lakes  of  the  West ; 
the  warlike  Ottawas  who  have  carried  the  Algonquin  tongue 
to  the  banks  of  Lake  Erie,  in  short,  every  enemy  of  the 
Iroquois  have  pledged  themselves  to  take  the  field  when- 
ever the  Governor  shall  require  the  axe  to  be  dug  up  and 
lifted  against  the  English  and  the  Five  Nations.  Next 
summer  the  chiefs  of  all  these  tribes  will  come  to  Quebec 
and  ratify  in  a  solemn  General  Council  the  wampums  they 
now  send,  by  me  and  the  other  missionaries,  my  brothers 
in  the  Lord!" 

The  Abb^,  with  the  slow  formal  manner  of  one  long  ac- 
customed to  the  speech  and  usages  of  the  Indians,  un- 
rolled the  belts  of  wampum  many  fathoms  in  length,  fasten- 
ed end  to  end  to  indicate  the  length  of  the  alliance  of  the 
various  tribes  with  France.  The  Abbe  interpreted  their 
meaning,  and  with  his  finger  pointed  out  the  totems  or 
signs  manual — usually  a  bird,  beast  or  fish — of  the  chiefs 
who  had  signed  the  roll. 

The  Council  looked  at  the  wampums  with  intense  in- 
terest, well  knowing  the  important  part  these  Indians  were 
capable  of  assuming  in  the  war  with  England. 

"  These  are  great  and  welcome  pledges  you  bring  us, 
Abb^,"  said  the  Governor ;  "  they  are  proofs  at  once  of 
your  ability  and  of  your  zealous  labors  for  the  King.  A 
great  public  duty  has  been  ably  discharged  by  you  and  your 
fellow-missionaries,  whose  loyalty  and  devotion  to  France 
it  shall  be  my  pleasure  to  lay  \  efore  his  Majesty.  The  Star 
of  Hope  glitters  in  the  western  horizon,  to  encourage  us 
under  the  clouds  of  the  eastern.  Even  the  loss  of  Acadia, 
should  it  be  final,  will  be  compensated  by  the  acquisition 


«34 


THE  CmENDtOR. 


I!    s 


V    •  1 


of  the  boundless  fertile  territories  of  th  i  Belle  Riviere,  %xA 
of  the  Illinois.  The  Abb^  Piquet  and  his  fellow  mission- 
aries have  won  the  hearts  of  the  native  tribes  of  the  West. 
There  is  hope  now  at  last  of  uniting  New  France  with 
Louisiana  in  one  unbroken  chain  of  French  territory." 

"  It  has  been  my  ambition,  since  His  Majesty  honored 
me  with  the  Government  of  New  France,  to  acquire  posses* 
sior  of  those  vast  territories,  covered  with  forests  old  as 
time,  and  in  soil  rich  and  fertile  as  Provence  and 
Normandy." 

"  I  have  served  the  King  all  my  life,"  continued  the 
Governor,  "  and  served  him  with  honor  and  even  distinc- 
tion ;  permit  me  to  say  this  much  of  myself." 

He  spoke  in  a  frank,  manly  way,  for  vanity  prompted  no 
part  of  his  speech.  "  Many  great  services  have  I  rendered 
my  country,  but  I  feel  that  the  greatest  service  I  could  yet 
do  Old  France  or  New, would  be  the  planting  of  ten  thousand 
sturdy  peasants  and  artisans  of  France  in  the  valley  of  the 
far  West,  to  make  its  forests  vocal  with  the  speech  of  our 
native  land." 

"  This  present  war  may  end  suddenly ;  I  think  it  will. 
The  late  victory  at  Lawfelt  has  stricken  the  allies  under  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  a  blow,  hard  as  Fontenoy.  Rumors 
of  renewed  negotiations  for  peace  are  flying  thick  through 
Europe.  God  speed  the  peacemakers,  and  bless  them,  I 
say  1  With  peace  comes  opportunity.  Then,  if  ever,  if 
France  be  true  to  herself,  and  to  her  heritage  in  the  New 
World,  she  will  people  the  valley  of  the  Ohio  and  secure 
forever  her  supremacy  in  America ! " 

"  But  our  forts  far  and  near  must  be  preserved  in  the 
meantime.  We  must  not  with  draw  from  one  foot  of  French 
territory.  Quebec  must  be  walled  and  made  safe  against 
all  attack  by  land  or  water.  I  therefore  will  join  the  coun- 
cil in  a  respectful  remonstrance  to  the  Count  de  Maurepas, 
against  ^he  inopportune  despatches  just  received  from  His 
Majesty.  I  trust  the  Royal  Intendant  will  favor  the  coun- 
cil now  with  his  opinion  on  this  important  matter,  and  I  shall 
be  happy  to  have  the  cooperation  of  His  Excellency  in 
measures  of  such  vital  consequence  to  the  Colony  and  to 
France."'^  ■  .n-:.  ;.  if  ....v  .,-(^,..  •  \ ..  ^;v  .  -.r/c,.^^.-  <.r«  ^^a^ 

The  Governor  sat  down,  after  courteously  motioning  the 
Intendant  to  rise  and  address  the  Council. 

The  Intendant  hated  the  mention  of  peace.    His  inter 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  WAR. 


>3S 


ests  and  the  interests  of  his  associates  of  the  Grand  Conh 
pany  were  all  involved  in  the  prolongation  of  the  war. 

War  enabled  the  Grand  Company  to  monopolize  the 
trade  and  military  expenditure  of  New  France.  The  enorm- 
ous fortunes  its  members  made  and  spent  with  such  reck- 
less prodigality  would  by  peace  be  dried  up  in  their 
source.  The  yoke  would  be  thrown  off  the  people's  neck, 
trade  would  be  again  free. 

Bigot  was  far-sighted  enough  to  see  that  clamors  would 
be  raised  and  listened  to  in  the  leisure  of  peace.  Pros- 
ecutions for  illegal  exactions  might  follow,  and  all  the 
support  of  his  friends  at  Court  might  not  be  able  to  save 
him  and  his  associates  from  ruin — perhaps  punishment. 

The  Parliaments  of  Paris,  Rouen  and  Brittany  still  re- 
tained a  shadow  of  independence.  It  was  only  a  shadow, 
but  the  fury  of  Jansenism  supplied  the  lack  of  political 
courage  ;  and  men  opposed  the  Court  and  its  policy  undei 
pretence  of  defending  the  rights  of  the  Gallic  Church  and 
the  old  religion  of  the  nation. 

Bigot  knew  he  was  safe  so  long  as  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour  governed  the  King  and  the  Kingdom.  But 
Louis  XV.  was  capricious  and  unfaithful  in  his  fancies ;  he 
had  changed  his  mistresses  and  his  policy  with  them  many 
times,  and  might  change  once  more,  to  the  ruin  of  Bigot 
and  all  the  dependents  of  La  Pompadour. 

Bigot's  letters  by  the  Fleur  de  Lys  were  calculated  to 
alarm  him.  A  rival  was  springing  up  at  Court  to  challenge 
La  Pompadour's  supremacy.  The  fair  and  fragile  Lange 
Vaubernier  had  already  attracted  the  King's  eye  ;  and  the 
courtiers  versed  in  his  ways  read  the  incipient  signs  of  a 
future  favorite.  > 

Little  did  the  laughing  Vaubernier  foresee  the  day 
when,  as  Madame  du  Barry,  she  would  reign  as  Dame  du 
Palais,  after  the  death  of  La  Pompadour.  Still  less  could 
she  imagine  that,  in  her  old  age,  in  the  next  reign,  she 
would  be  dragged  to  the  guillotine,  filling  the  streets  of 
Paris  with  her  shrieks,  heard  above  the  bowlings  of  the  mob 
of  the  Revolution :  "  Give  me  life  I  life  I  for  my  repentance  I 
Life  !  to  devote  it  to  the  Republic  1  Life  !  for  the  surrender 
of  all  my  wealth  to  the  nation  1 "  And  death,  not  life,  was 
given  in  answer  to  her  passionate  pleadings. 

These  dark  days  were  yet  in  the  womb  of  the  future, 
however.    The  giddy  Vaabernier  was  at  this  time  gayly 

"*-»-'  ^  •-  •*  t  '  1    i  '  .    f  *V     r  -•  \^       -  t  :       ..   ''  ■■-'"-  J       ^  *.:.    ,   ^        « -V"      "^  3 


■  ■  ■  s   . 


iae 


THECHIEI^aOR. 


w 


catching  at  the  heart  of  tlic  King  ;  but  her  procedure  filled 
the  mind  of  Bigot  with  anxiety.  The  fall  of  La  Pompadour 
would  entail  swift  ruin  upon  himself  and  associates.  He 
knew  it  was  the  intrigues  of  this  girl  which  had  caused  La 
Pompadour  suddenly  to  declare  for  peace  in  order  to  watch 
the  King  more  surely  in  his  palace.  Therefore  the  woia 
peace  and  the  name  of  Vaubernier,  were  equally  odious  to 
Bigot,  and  he  was  perplexed  in  no  small  .^egree  how  to 
act. 

Moreover,  be  it  confessed,  that  although  a  bad  man  and 
a  corrupt  statesman,  Bigot  was  a  Frenchman,  proud  of  the 
national  success  and  glory.  While  robbing  her  treasures 
with  one  hand,  he  was  ready  with  his  sword  in  the  other  to 
give  life  and  all  in  her  defence.  Bigot  was  bitterly  op- 
posed to  English  supremacy  in  North  America.  The  loss 
of  Louisbourg,  though  much  his  fault,  stung  him  to  the 
quick,  as  a  triumph  of  the  national  enemy  ;  and  in  those 
final  days  of  New  France,  after  the  fall  of  Montcalm,  Bigot 
was  the  last  man  to  yield,  and  when  all  others  counselled 
retreat,  he  would  not  consent  to  the  surrender  of  Quebec  to 
the  English. 

To-day,  in  the  Council  of  War,  Bigot  stood  up  to  re- 
spond to  the  appeal  of  the  Governor.  He  glanced  his  eye 
coolly,  yet  respectfully,  over  the  Council.  His  raised  hand 
sparkled  with  gems,  the  gifts  of  courtiers  and  favorites  of  the 
King.  *'  Gentlemen  of  the  Council  of  War ! "  said  he — "  I 
approve  with  all  my  heart  of  the  words  of  His  Excellency, 
the  CSrovernor,  with  reference  to  our  fortifications  and  the 
maintenance  of  our  frontiers.  It  is  our  duty  to  remonstrate, 
as  councillors  of  the  King  in  the  Colony,  against  the  tsnor 
of  the  despatches  of  the  Count  de  Maurepas.  The  City  of 
Quebec,  properly  fortified,  will  be  equivalent  to  an  array  of 
men  in  the  field,  and  the  security  and  defence  of  the 
whole  Colony  depend  upon  its  walls.  There  can  be  but 
one  intelligent  opinion  in  the  Council  on  that  point,  and 
that  opinion  should  be  laid  before  His  Majesty  before  this 
despatch  be  acted  on."  .  =.  > 

"  The  pressure  of  the  war  is  great  upon  us  just  now.  The 
loss  of  the  fleet  of  the  Marquis  de  la  Jonquifere,  has  greatly 
inteiTupted  our  communications  with  France,  and  Canada 
is  left  much  to  its  own  resources.  But  Frenchmen  1  the 
greater  the  peril,  the  greater  the  glory  of  our  defence  !  And 
I  feel  a  lively  confidence," — Bigot  glanced  proudly  round 
the  table  at  the  brave,  anim^i'^ed  faces  that  turned  towards 


THE  COUNCIL  Ot  WAR  \^ 

him — "  I  feel  a  lively  confidence  that  in  the  skill,  devotion 
and  gallantry  of  the  officers  I  see  around  this  Council  table, 
we  shall  be  able  to  repel  all  our  enemies,  and  beai  the 
Royal  flag  to  fresh  triumphs  in  North  America." 

This  timely  flattery  was  not  lost  upon  the  susceptible 
minds  of  the  officers  present,  who  testifled  their  approval 
by  vigorous  tappii.g  on  the  table,  and  cries  of  "  Well  said  I 
(Chevalier  Intendant  I" 

"  I  thank,  heartily,  the  venerable  Abb^  Piquet,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  for  his  glorious  success  in  converting  the  war- 
like savages  of  the  West,  from  foes  to  fast  friends  of  the 
King ;  and,  as  Royal  Intendant,  1  pledge  the  Abb^  all  my 
help  in  the  establishment  of  his  proposed  Fort  and  Mission 
at  La  Presentation,  for  the  purpose  of  dividing  the  power 
of  the  Iroquois." 

"  That  is  right  well  said,  if  the  devil  said  it  I"  remarked 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  to  the  Acadian  sitting  next  him. 
"  There  is  bell-metal  in  Bigot,  and  he  rings  well,  if  properly 
struck.     Pity  so  clever  a  fellow  should  be  a  knave  I " 

*'  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips.  Chevalier  La  Corne," 
replied  the  Acadian,  whom  no  eloquence  could  soften. 
"  Bigot  sold  Louisbourg  !  "  This  was  a  common  but  erro- 
neous opinion  in  Acadia. 

••  Bigot  butters  his  own  parsnips  well.  Colonel,"  re- 
plied La  Corne  St.  Luc — "  but  I  did  not  think  he  would 
have  gone  against  the  despatches  !  It  is  the  first  time  he 
ever  opposed  Versailles  !  There  must  be  something  in  the 
wind !  A  screw  loose  somewhere,  or  another  woman  in  the 
case  1     But  hark,  he  is  going  on  again  I " 

The  Intendant,  after  examining  some  papers,  entered 
into  a  detail  of  the  resources  of  the  Colony,  the  number  of 
men  capable  of  bearing  arms,  the  munitions  and  material  of 
war  in  the  magazines,  and  the  relative  strength  of  each  dis- 
trict of  the  Province.  He  manipulated  his  figures  with  the 
dexterity  of  an  Indian  juggler  throwing  balls ;  and  at  the 
end  brought  out  a  totality  of  force  in  the  Colony  capable, 
unaided,  of  prolonging  the  war  for  two  years,  against  all 
the  powers  of  the  English. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  speech.  Bigot  took  his  seat. 
He  had  made  a  favorable  impression  upon  the  Council  \ 
and  even  his  most  strenuous  opponents  admitted  that  on 
the  whole  the  Intendant  had  spoken  like  an  able  adminis- 
trator and  a  true  Frenchman. 
^  Cadet  and  Varin  supported  their  chief  warmly.    Bad 


•3« 


THE  CHIEN  trOR. 


■  ■    I 


V    I 


M  they  were,  both  in  private  life  and  public  conduct,  diey 
Uckecl  neither  shrewdness  nor  courage.  They  plundered 
their  country — but  were  ready  to  fight  for  it  against  the 
national  enemy. 

Other  officers  followed  in  succession.  Men  whose 
names  were  already  familiar,  or  destined  to  become  glori* 
cus  in  New  France — La  Corne  St.  Luc,  Celeron  de  Bien- 
rille,  Colonel  Philibert,  the  Chevalier  de  Beaujeu,  the 
De  Villiers,  LeGardeur  de  St.  Pierre  and  Dc  Lery.  One 
and  all  supported  that  view  of  the  despatches  taken  by  the 
Governor  and  the  Intendant.  All  agreed  upon  the  necessity 
of  completing  the  walls  of  Quebec,  and  of  making  a  deter- 
mined stand  at  every  point  of  the  frontier  against  the  threat- 
ened invasion.  In  case  of  the  sudden  patching  up  of  a 
peace  by  the  negotiators  at  Aix  La  Chapelle — as  really 
happened — on  the  terms  of  ////  possidetis^  it  was  of  vital 
importance  that  New  France  held  fast  to  every  shred  of 
her  territory,  both  East  and  West. 

Long  and  earnest  were  the  deliberations  of  the  Council 
of  war.  The  reports  of  the  commanding  officers,  from  all 
points  of  the  frontier,  were  carefully  studied.  Plans  of 
present  defence  and  future  conquest  were  discussed  with 
reference  to  the  strength  and  weakness  of  the  Colony ;  and 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  forces  and  designs  of  the 
English,  obtained  from  the  disaffected  remnant  of  Crom- 
wellian  republicans  in  New  England,  whose  hatred  to 
the  Crown  ever  outweighed  their  loyalty,  and  who  kept  up 
a  traitorous  correspondence  for  purposes  of  their  own, 
with  the  Governors  of  New  France. 

The  lamps  were  lit  and  burned  far  into  the  night,  when 
the  Council  broke  up.  The  most  part  of  the  officers  par- 
took of  a  cheerful  refreshment  with  the  Governor,  before 
they  retired  to  their  several  quarters.  Only  Bigot  and  his 
friends  declined  to  sup  with  the  Governor.  They  took  a 
polite  leave,  and  rode  away  from  the  Chateau  to  the  Palais 
of  the  Intendant,  where  a  more  gorgeous  repast,  and  more 
congrenial  company  awaiie.d  them. 

The  wine  flowed. freely  at  the  Intendant's  table ;  and  as 
the  irritating  events  of  the  day  were  recalled  to  memory, 
the  pent  up  wrath  of  the  Intendant  broke  forth.  "  Damn 
the  Golden  Dog  and  his  master  both  I "  exclaimed  he. 
"  Philibert  shall  pay  with  his  life  for  the  outrage  of  to-day, 
or  I  will  lose  mine !  The  dirt  is  not  off  my  coat  yet, 
X^adet !  "  said  he,  as  he  pointed  to  a  spatter  of  mud  upon 


^^ 


THE  COUACJL  OF  WAR. 


139 


his  breast.  "  A  pretty  medal  that  for  the  Intcndant  to  weal 
in  a  Council  of  war  I  " 

'-^Council  of  war!"  replied  Cadet,  setting  bis  goblet 
down  with  a  bang  upon  the  polished  table,  after  draining 
it  to  the  bottom.  *'  I  would  like  to  go  through  that  mob 
again  I  and  I  would  pull  an  oar  in  the  galleys  of  Marseilles, 
rtther  than  be  questioned,  witii  that  air  of  authority,  by  a 
botanizing  quack  like  La  Galissonibre  I  Such  villanous 
questions  as  he  asked  me  about  the  state  of  tlie  Koyal 
magazines!  La  Galissoni^re  had  more  the  air  of  a  judge 
cross-examining  a  culprit,  than  of  a  Governor  asking  infor- 
mation  of  a  king's  officer !  " 

"  True,  Cadet  I  "  replied  Varin,  who  was  always  a  flat- 
terer, and  who  at  last,  saved  his  dl-gotten  wealth  by  the 
surrender  of  his  wife  as  a  love-gift  to  the  Due  de  Choiseul. 
"  We  all  have  our  own  injuries  to  bear.  The  Intendant 
was  just  showing  us  the  spot  of  dirt  cast  upon  him  by  the 
mob ;  and  I  ask  what  satisfaction  he  has  asked  in  the  Coun- 
cil for  the  insult?" 

"Ask  satisfaction  !  "  replied  Cadet  with  a  laugh!  "Let 
him  take  it !  Satisfaction  !  -We  will  all  help  him  !  But  I 
say  that  the  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him  will  alone  cure 
the  bite  !  What  I  laughed  at  the  most  was,  this  morn- 
ing at  Beaumanoir,  to  see  how  coolly  that  whelp  of  the 
Golden  Dog,  young  Philibert,  walked  off  with  De  Repen- 
tigny  from  the  very  midst  of  all  the  Grand  Company ! " 

"  We  shall  lose  our  young  neophyte,  I  doubt,  Cadet  1 
I  was  a  fool  to  let  him  go  with  Philibert ! "  remarked 
Bigot.  If  , 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  of  losing  him,  we  hold  him  by  a 
strong  triple  cord,  spun  by  the  Devil.  No  fear  of  losing 
him  !  ■'  answered  Cadet,  grinning  good  humouredly. 

"  What  do  you  mean.  Cadet  ?  "  The  Intendant  took 
up  his  cup,  and  drank  very  nonchalantly,  as  if  he  thought 
little  of  Cadet's  view  of  the  matter.  "  What  triple-cord 
binds  De  Repentigny  to  us  ? "  vj 

"  His  love  of  wine,  his  love  of  gaming,  and  his  love  of 
women ! — or  rather  his  love  of  a  woman,  which  is  the  strong- 
est strand  in  the  string  for  a  young  fool  like  him,  who  is 
always  chasing  virtue,  and  hugging  v'ce !  " 

"  Oh  !  a  woman  has  got  him  !  eh,  Cadet  ?  pray  who  is 
she  ?  When  once  a  woman  catches  a  fellow  by  the  gills, 
he  is  a  dead  mackerel :  his  fate  is  fixed  for  good  or  bad 


ill: 


'ft'- 


U::     ' 


fit 


140 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR. 


Mt(» 


^'^1 


in  this  world.  But  who  is  she,  Cadet  ? — she  must  be  A 
clever  one,"  said  Bigot,  sententiously  ! 

"  So  she  is  !  and  she  is  too  clever  for  young  De  Repen- 
tigny  1  She  has  got  her  pretty  fingers  in  his  gills,  and  can 
carry  her  fish  to  whatever  market  she  chooses  I "  >'*> 

"  Cadet !  Cadet !  Out  with  it !  "  repeated  a  dozen  voices. 
"  Yes,  out  with  it ! "  repeated  Bigot,  "  we  are  all  compan- 
ions under  the  rose  and  there  are  no  secrets  here  about 
wine  or  women ! " 

"  Well  I  would  not  give  a  filbert  for  all  the  women  born 
since  mother  Eve  !  "  said  Cadet,  flinging  a  nut-shell  at  the 
ceiling.  "  But  this  is  a  rare  one,  I  must  confess."  Now 
stop  !  Don't  cry  out  again  *  Cadet !  out  with  it ! '  and  I  will 
tell  you  !  what  think* you  of  the  fair,  jolly  Mademoiselle 
des  Meloises  ? " 

"  Ang^lique  ?  Is  De  Repentigny  in  love  with  her  ?  " 
Bigot  looked  quite  interested  now.  ' 

"  In  love  with  her  ?  He  -would  go  on  all  fours  after 
her,  if  she  wanted  him !     He  does  almost  as  it  is." 

Bigot  placed  a  finger  on  his  brow,  and  pondered  for  a 
moment.  "  You  say  well.  Cadet ;  if  De  Repentigny  has 
fallen  in  love  with  that  girl,  he  is  ours  for  ever  I  Angdlique 
des  Meloises  never  lets  go  her  ox  until  she  offers  him  up 
as  a  burnt  offering !  The  Honnetes  gens  will  lose  one  of 
the  best  trouts  in  their  stream,  if  Angdlique  has  the  tick- 
ling of  him  ! " 

Bigot  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  pleased  with  Cadet's  in- 
formation. He  rose  from  his  seat  somewhat  flushed,  and 
excited  by  this  talk  respecting  Angdlique  des  Meloises. 
He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a  few  turns,  recovered 
his  composure,  and  sat  down  again.  -  '    : 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  he  ;  "  too  much  care  will 
kill  a  cat !  Let  us  change  our  talk  to  a  merrier  tune ;  fill  up, 
and  we  will  drink  to  the  loves  of  De  Repentigny,  and  the 
fair  Angdiique !  I  am  much  mistaken  if  we  do  not  find  in 
her  the  Dea  ex  Machind^  to  help  us  out  of  our  trouble  with 
the  honneies  gens  /  '* 

The  glasses  were  filled  and  emptied.  Cards  and  dice 
were  then  called  for.  The  company  drew  their  chairs  into 
a  closer  circle  round  the  table ;  deep  play,  and  deeper 
drinking  set  in.  The  Palais  resounded  with  revelry,  until 
the  morning  sun  looked  into  the  great  window,  blushing 
red  at  the  scene  of  drunken  riot,  that  had  become  habitusU 
in  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant. 


7*A'/*  Cn ARMING  JOSEPUINB, 


141 


*-=f 


;j     .     ,vk      chapter  XV. 

THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHINE. 

The  few  words  of  sympathy  dropped  by  Bigot  in  th« 
Secret  Chamber,  had  fallen  like  manna  on  the  famine  of 
Caroline's  starving  affections,  as  she  remained  on  the  sofa 
where  she  had  half-fallen,  pressing  her  bosom  with  her 
hands,  as  if  a  new-born  thought  lay  there.  "  I  am  sure  he 
meant  it !  "  repeated  she  to  herself.  "  I  feel  that  his  words 
were  true,  and  for  the  moment  his  look  and  tone  were 
those  of  my  happy  maiden  days  in  Acadia !  I  was  too 
proud  then  of  my  fancied  power,  and  thought  Bigot's  love 
deserved  the  surrender  of  my  very  conscience  to  his  keep- 
ing. I  forgot  God  in  my  love  for  him  ;  and,  alas  for  me  ! 
that  now  is  part  of  my  punishment !  I  feel  not  the  sin  of 
loving  him  !  My  penitence  is  not  sincere,  when  I  can  still 
rejoice  in  his  smile !  Woe  is  me  1  Bigot !  Bigot !  unworthy 
as  thou  art,  I  cannot  forsake  thee  !  I  would  willingly  die 
at  thy  feet,  only  spurn  me  not  away,  nor  give  to  another  the 
love  that  belongs  to  me,  and  for  which  I  have  paid  the 
price  of  my  immortal  soul !  " 

She  relapsed  into  a  train  of  bitter  reflections,  as  hei 
thoughts  reverted  to  herself.  Silence  had  been  gradually 
creeping  through  the  house.  The  noisy  debauch  was  at  an 
end.  There  were  trampings,  voices,  and  foot-falls,  for  a 
while  longer,  and  then  they  died  away.  Everything  was 
still,  and  silent  as  the  grave.  She  knew  the  feast  was 
over,  and  the  guests  departed  ;  but  not  whether  Bigot  had 
•accompanied  them. 

She  sprang  up  as  a  low  knock  came  to  her  door,  think- 
ing it  was  he,  come  to  bid  her  adieu.  It  was  with  a  feeling 
of  disapp  ointment,  she  heard  the  voice  of  Dame  Tremblay 
"  My  Lady,  may  I  enter  ? " 

Caroline  ran  her  fingers  through  her  disordered  hair, 
pressed  her  handkerchief  into  her  eyes,  and  hastily  tried  to 
obliterate  every  trace  of  her  recent  agony.  She  bade  her 
enter 

Dame  Tremblay,  shrewd  as  became  the  whilome 
Charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beauport,  had  a  kind  hear^ 


saymg  • 


«4» 


r^£  CHIENLtOR. 


nevertheless,  under  her  old  fashioned  bodice.  She  sin* 
cerely  pitied  this  young  creature,  who  was  passiLg  her  davi 
in  prayer,  and  her  nights  in  weeping,  although  slie  might 
rather  blame  her  in  secret,  for  not  appreciating  bejtter  the 
honor  of  a  residence  at  Beaumanoir  and  ^h,'^  friendship  of 
the  Intendant. 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  prettier  than  I,  when  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine  I  **  thought  the  old  Dame.  "  I  did  not 
despise  Beaumanoir  in  those  days,  and  why  should  she 
now  ?  But  she  will  be  neither  maid  nor  mistress  here  long, 
I  am  thinking  !  "  The  Dame  saluted  the  young  lady  with 
great  deference,  and  quietly  asked  if  she  needed  her  ser- 
vice. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  you,  good  Dame  " — Caroline  answered  Her 
own  thoughts,  rather  than  the  question.  "  Tell  me  what 
makes  this  unusual  silence  in  the  Chateau  ? " 

"  The  Intendant  and  all  the  guests  have  gone  to  the 
city,  my  Lady.  A  great  officer  of  the  Governor's  came 
to  summon  them.  To  be  sure,  not  many  of  them  were  fit  to 
go,  but  after  a  deal  of  bathing  and  dressii.  i  gentle- 
men got  off.  Such  a  clatter  of  horsemen,  as  ode  out, 
I  never  heard  before,  my  Lady;  you  .must  have  heard  them 
even  here  !  "                                    r^rrr 

"  Yes,  Dame !  "  replied  Caroline,  "  I  heard  i>  ;  and  the 
Intendant,  has  he  accompanied  them  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady ;  the  freshest  and  foremost  cavalier  of 
them  all.  Wine  and  late  hours  never  hurt  the  Intendant. 
It  is  for  that  I  praise  him,  for  he  is  a  gallant  gentleman, 
who  knows  what  politeness  is  to  women." 

Caroline  shrank  a  little  at  the  thought  expressed  by  the 
Dame.     "What  causes  you  to  say  that?"  asked  she. 

**  I  will  tell,  my  Lady !  *  Dame  Tremblay ! '  said  he,  just 
before  he  left  the  Chateau.  *  Dame  Tremblay.'  He  al- 
ways calls  me  that  when  he  is  formal,  but  sometimes  when 
he  is  merry,  he  calls  me  '  Charming  Josephine,'  in  remem- 
brance of  my  young  days  ;  concerning  which  he  has  heard 
flattering  stories,  I  daresay  — "  :^^    -^^ 

"  In  heaven's  name  !  go  on.  Dame  I "  Caroline,  deprcss- 
od  as  she  was,  felt  the  Dame's  garrulity  like  a  pinch  on 
her  impatience.  "  What  said  the  Intendant  to  you,  on 
leaving  the  Chateau  ? " 

"Oh,  he  spoke  to  me  of  you  quite  feelingly;  that  is, 
bade  me  take  Ihe  utmost  care  of  the  poor  lady  in  the  se- 


.:r 


THE   CHARMWG  yOSEPH/ATS. 


V4S 


cret  chamber.  I  was  to  give  you  everything  you  wished, 
apd  keep  off  all  visitors,  if  such  were  your  own  desire." 

A  train  of  powder  does  not  catch  fire  from  a  spark 
more  quickly  than  Caroline's  imagination  from  these  few 
words  of  the  old  houhckeeper.  **  Did  he  say  that,  good 
Dame  ?  God  bless  yoii,  and  bless  him  for  these  words  I  *' 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  thought  of  his  tenderness, 
which,  although  half  fictitious,  she  wholly  believed. 

"  Yes,  Dame  I "  continued  she.  "  It  is  my  most  earnest 
desire  to  be  secluded  from  all  visitors.  I  wish  to  see  no 
one,  but  yourself.  Have  you  many  visitors,  ladies  I  mean^ 
at  the  Chateau  ?  •'    /  ^i?;  .    v -   .  f  i  i'^^ 

"  Oh  yes ;  the  ladies  of  the  city  are  not  likely  to  forget 
the  invitations  to  the  balls  and  dinners  of  the  bachelor 
Intendant  of  New  France.  It  is  the  most  fashionable 
thing  in  the  city,  and  every  lady  is  wild  to  attend  them. 
There  is  one,  the  handsomest  and  gayest  of  them  all,  who 
they  say,  would  not  object  even  to  become  the  bride  of  the 
Intendant."       '     %  -v 

It  was  a  careless  shaft  of  the  old  Dame's,  but  it  went 
to  the  heart  of  Caroline.  "  Who  is  she,  good  Dame } — ^pray 
tell  me!" 

"  Oh,  my  Lady,  I  should  fear  her  anger,  if  she  knew  what 
I  say.  She  is  the  most  terrible  coquette  in  the  city.  Wor- 
shipped by  the  men,  and  hated  of  course,  by  the  women, 
who  all  imitate  her  in  dress  and  style,  as  much  as  they  pos- 
sibly can,  because  they  see  it  takes !  But  every  woman 
fears  for  either  husband  or  lover,  when  Angdlique  des  Me- 
loises  is  her  rival." 

"  Is  that  her  name  ?  I  never  heard  it  before.  Dame  1 " 
remarked  Caroline,  with  a  shudder.  She  felt  instinctively 
that  the  name  was  one  of  direful  omen  to  herself. 

"  Pray  God  you  may  never  have  reason  to  hear  it  again," 
replied  Dame  Tremblay.  "She  it  was  who  went  to  the 
mansion  of  the  Sieur  Tourangeau,  and  with  her  riding  whip 
lashed  the  mark  of  a  red  cross  upon  the  forehead  of  his 
daughter,  Cecile,  scarring  her  forever;  because  she  had 
presumed  to  smile  kindly  upon  a  young  officer,  a  handsome 
fellow,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  whom  any  woman 
might  be  pardoned  for  admiring ! "  added  the  old  Dame, 
with  a  natural  touch  of  the  candor  of  her  youth.  "  If  An- 
gdlique  takes  a  fancy  to  the  Intendant,  it  will  be  danger- 
ous for  any  other  woman  to  stand  in  her  way  1 " 


ts 


■44 


THB  CHJEN  UOR. 


IP 


■■% 


i\-\ 


if.,.,,  i.    ,-., 


Caroline  gave  a  frightened  look,  at  the  Dame*s  descrip* 
tion  of  a  possible  rival  in  the  Intendant's  love.  "Yoa 
know  more  of  her,  Dame !  Tell  me  all !  Tell  me  the  wont 
I  havo  to  learn  1 "  pleaded  the  poor  girl. 

"  The  worst,  my  Lady !  I  fear  no  one  can  tell  the  worst 
of  Ang^lique  des  Meloises ;  at  least  would  not  dare  to. 
Although  I  know  nothing  bad  of  her,  except  that  she  would 
like  to  have  all  the  men  to  herself,  and  so  spite  all  the  wo- 
men 1 " 

"  But  she  must  regard  that  young  officer,  with  more  than 
common  affection,  to  have  acted  so  savagely  to  Mademoi* 
selle  Tourangeau  ? "  Caroline,  with  a  woman's  quickness, 
had  caught  at  that  gleam  of  hope  through  the  darkness. 

"O  yes,  my  Lady.  All  Quebec  knows  that  Ang^lique 
loves  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny,  for  nothing  is  a  secret 
in  Quebec,  if  more  than  one  person  knows  it,  as  I  myself 
well  recollect;  for  when  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine,  ray 
very  whispers  were  all  over  the  city  by  the  next  dinner  hour ; 
and  repeated  at  every  table,  as  gentlemen  cracked  their 
almonds,  and  drank  their  wine  in  toasts  to  the  Charming 
Josephine." 

"  Pshaw !  Dame  !  Tell  me  about  the  Seigneur  de  Re- 
pentigny !  Does  Angelique  des  Meloises  love  him,  think 
you  ? "  Caroline's  eyes  were  fixed  like  stars  upon  the 
Dame,  awaiting  her  reply. 

"  It  takes  women  to  read  women,  they  say,'*  replied  the 
Dame,  "  and  every  lady  in  Quebec  would  swear  that  Ange- 
lique loves  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny  ;  but  I  know  that 
if  she  can,  she  will  marry  the  Intendant,  whom  she  has 
fairly  bewitched  with  her  wit  and  beauty,  and  you  know  a 
clever  woman  can  marry  any  man  she  pleases,  if  she  only 
goes  the  right  way  about  it ;  men  are  such  fools  I  " 

Caroline  grew  faint.  Cold  drops  gathered  on  her  brow. 
-A  veil  of  mist  floated  before  her  eyes.  "Water!  good 
Dame  1  water ! "  she  articulated,  after  several  efforts. 

Dame  Tremblay  ran  and  got  her  a  drink  of  water,  and 
such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand.  The  Dame  was  profuse 
in  words  of  sympathy.  She  had  gone  through  life  with  a 
light,  lively  spirit,  as  became  the  Charming  Josephine,  but 
never  lost  the  ki  idly  heart  that  was  natural  to  her. 

Caroline  rallied  from  her  faintness.  "  Have  you  seen 
what  you  tell  me  Dame  ?  or  is  ^t  but  the  idle  gossip  of  the 
city,  no  truth  in  it  ?     Oh,  say  it  is  the  idle  gossip  of  the 


THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHINB. 


US 


uty !  Francois  Bigot  is  not  going  to  marry  this  lady  t  He 
is  not  so  faithless — to  me,"  she  was  about  to  add,  but  did 
not. 

"So  faithless  to  her,  she  means, "poor  soull"  solilo- 
quized the  Dame.  "  It  is  but  little  you  know  my  gay  m?^ 
ter,  if  you  think  he  v  ilues  a  promise  made  to  any  woman, 
except  to  deceive  hei  !  I  have  seen  too  many  birds  of  that 
feather,  not  to  know  a  hawk  from  beak  to  claw.  When  I 
was  the  Charming  Josephine,  I  took  the  measure  of  men's 
professions,  and  never  was  deceived  but  once.  Men's 
promises  are  big  as  clouds,  and  as  empty  and  as  unsta- 
ble!" 

"My  good  Dame,  I  am  sure  you  have  a  kind  heart," 
said  Caroline  in  reply  to  a  sympathizing  pressure  of  the 
hand.  "  But  you  do  not  know,  you  cannot  imagine  what 
injustice  you  do  the  Intendant !  " — Caroline  hesitated  and 
blushed,  "  by  mentioning  the  report  of  his  marriage  with 
that  lady.    Men  speak  untruly  of  him — " 

"My  dear  Lady.  It  is  what  the  women  say,  that 
frightens  one.  The  men  are  angry,  and  wont  believe  it, 
but  the  woman  are  jealous,  and  will  believe  it  even  if 
there  be  nothing  in  it !  As  a  faithful  servant,  I  ought  to  have 
no  eyes  to  watch  my  master,  but  I  have  not  failed  to  ob- 
serve that  the  Chevalier  Bigot  is  caught  man- fashion,  if 
not  husband-fashion,  in  the  snares  of  the  artful  Angdlique. 
But  may  I  speak  my  real  opinion  to  you,  my  Lady  "i  *' 

Caroline  was  eagerly  watching  the  lips  of  the  garrulous 
dame.  She  started,  brushed  back  with  a  stroke  of  her 
hand  the  thick  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  ear :  "  Oh, 
speak  all  your  thoughts,  good  Dame  J  If  your  next  words 
wcie  to  kill  me — speak  them  !  " 

"  My  next  words  will  not  harm  you,  my  Lady  I "  said  she, 
with  a  meaning  smile.  "  If  you  will  accept  the  opinion  of 
an  old  woman,  who  learned  the  ways  of  men,  when  she 
was  the  Charming  Josephine !  You  must  not  conclude 
that  because  the  Chevalier  Intendant  admires,  or  even 
loves  Ang^Iique  des  Meloises,  he  is  going  to  marry  her. 
That  is  not  the  fashion  of  these  times.  Men  love  beauty 
and  marry  money.  Love  is  more  plenty  than  matrimony, 
both  at  Paris  and  at  Quebec,  at  Versailles  as  well  as  at 
Beaumanoir,  or  even  at  Lake  Beauport,  as  I  learned  to  my 
cost,  when  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  !  " 

Caroline  blushed   crimson,   at  the  remark  of   Damt 

10 


ri 


146 


THE  CHI  EN  ly  OK. 


m 


-■::?■ 


;iri 


;!(■ 


t 


Tremblay.  Her  voice  quivered  with  emotion  :  "  It  h  sin 
to  cheapen  love  like  that,  Dame  !  and  yet  I  know  we  have 
sometimes  to  bury  our  love  in  our  heart,  with  no  hope  of 
resurrection." 

"  Sometimes  ?  almost  alwa)'s,  my  Lady  I  When  I  was 
the  Charming  Josephine — nay.  listen,  lady — my  story  is  in- 
structive." Caroline  composed  herself  to  hear  the  dame's 
recital.  "  When  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport,  I  began  by  believing  that  men  were  angels,  sent 
for  the  salvatioii  of  us  women.  I  thought  that  love  was  a 
better  passport  than  money  to  lead  to  matrimony ;  but  I 
was  a  fool  for  my  fancy  1  I  had  a  good  score  of  lovers 
any  day.  The  gallants  praised  my  beauty,  and  it  was  the 
envy  of  the  city ;  they  flattered  me  for  my  wit,  nay,  even 
fought  duels  for  my  favor,  and  called  me  the  Charming 
Josephine  ! — but  not  one  offered  to  marry  me !  At  twenty, 
I  ran  away  for  love,  and  was  forsaken.  At  thirty,  I  married 
for  money,  and  was  rid  of  all  my  illusions.  At  forty,  I 
came  as  house-keeper  to  Beaumanoir,  and  have  lived  here 
comfortably  ever  since.  I  knew  what  Royal  Intendants 
are  !  Old  Hocquart  wore  night-caps  in  the  day  time,  took 
snuif  every  minute,  and  jilted  a  lady  in  France,  because  she 
had  not  the  dower  of  a  duchesse  to  match  his  hoards  of 
wealth !  The  Chevalier  Bigot's  black  eye  and  jolly  laugh 
draw  after  him  all  the  girls  of  the  city,  but  not  one  will 
catch  him  1  Angdlique  des  Meloises  is  first  in  his  favor, 
but  I  see  it  is  as  clear  as  print  in  the  eye  of  the  Intendant, 
that  he  will  never  marry  her — and  you  will  prevent  him,  my 
Lady ! " 

"  I !  I  prevent  him  !  "  exclaimed  Caroline  in  amazement. 
"  Alas  !  good  Dame,  you  little  know  how  lighter  than  thibtle 
down  floating  on  the  wind,  is  my  influence  with  the  Intend- 
ant." 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice,  my  Lady.  Listen  I  I  never 
saw  a  more  pitying  glance  fall  from  the  eye  of  man,  than 
the  Intendant  cast  upon  you,  one  day,  when  he  saw  you 
kneeling  in  your  "oratory,  unconscious  of  his  presence. 
His  lips  quivered,  and  a  tear  gathered  under  his  thick  eye- 
lashes, as  he  silently  withdrew.  I  heard  him  mutter  a 
blessing  upon  you,  and  curses  upon  La  Pompadour,  for 
coming  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire.  I  was  a  faith- 
ful servant,  and  kept  my  counsel.  I  could  see,  however, 
that  the  Intendant  thought  more  of  the  lovely  lady  of 
'■■■■.■  ui  • 


THE  CHAR. -  JOSEPHllfR. 


^^ 


Beaumanoir,  than  of   all  the   ambitious    demoiselles   ol 
Quebec." 

Caroline  sprang  up,  and  casting  off  the  deep  reserve 
she  had  maintained,  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  ol 
Dame  Tremblay,  and  half  choked  wilh  emotion,  exclaimed : 

"  Is  that  true  ?  good,  dear  friend  of  friends  !  Did  the 
Chevalier  Bigot  bless  me,  and  curse  La  Pompadour  for 
coming  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire  ?  His  heart's 
desire  I  but  you  do  not  know — you  cannot  guess,  what  that 
means,  Dame?" 

"  As  if  I  did  not  know  a  man's  heart's  desire  !  but  I  am 
a  woman,  and  can  guess  !  I  was  not  the  Charming  Jose- 
phine, for  nothing,  good  lady !  "  replied  the  Dame,  smiling, 
as  the  enraptured  girl  laid  her  fair,  smooth  cheek  upon 
that  of  the  old  house-keeper. 

"  And  did  he  look  so  pityingly  as  you  describe,  and 
bl'jss  me  as  I  was  praying,  unwitting  of  his  presence?" 
repeated  she,  with  a  look  that  searched  the  Dame 
through  and  through. 

"  He  did,  my  Lady ;  he  looked,  just  then,  as  a  man  looks 
upon  a  woman  whom  he  really  loves.  I  know  how  men 
look  when  they  really  love  us,  and  when  they  only  pretend 
to !  No  deceiving  me !  "  added  she.  "  When  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine — " 

"Ave  Maria/"  said  Caroline,  crossing  herself,  with 
deep  devotion,  not  heeding  the  Dame's  reminiscences  of 
Lake  Beauport — "  Heaven  has  heard  my  prayers  ;  I  can 
die  happy ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid  you  should  die  at  all,  my  lady  !  You, 
die  !  The  Intendant  loves  you.  I  see  it  in  his  face,  that 
he  will  never  marry  Ang^lique  des  Meloises.  He  may 
indeed,  marry  a  great  Marchioness,  with  her  lap  full  of 
gold  and  chateaux — that  is,  if  the  King  commands  him. 
That  is  how  the  grand  gentlemen  of  the  Court  marry.  They 
Hied  rank,  and  love  beauty.  The  heart  to  one,  the  hand  to 
•nother.  It  would  be  my  way,  too,  were  I  a  man,  and 
women  so  simple  as  we  all  are.  If  a  girl  cannot  marry 
for  love,  she  will  marry  for  money ;  and  if  not  for  money, 
she  can  always  marry  for  spite. — I  did,  w  hen  T  was  the 
Charming  Josephine  ! " 

"  It  is  a  shocking  and  a  sinful  way,  to  marry  without 
love  1  '*  said  Caroline  warmly. 

**  It  is  better  than  no  way  at  all  I "  replied  the  Dame, 


«4S 


THE  CHIRNDtOR, 


regretting  her  remark  when  she  saw  her  laly's  face  flaah 
like  crimson.  The  Dame's  opinions  were  rather  the  worM 
for  wear,  in  her  long  jourtiey  through  life  and  would  not 
be  adopted  by  a  jury  of  prudes.  "  When  I  was  the  Charm- 
ing Josephine,"  continued  she,  "  I  had  the  love  of  half  the 
gallants  of  Quebec,  but  not  one  offered  his  hand.  What 
was  I  to  do  ?  *  Crook  a  finger,  or  love  and  linger,'  a?  they 
say  in  Alen9on,  where  I  was  born  ? " 

"  Fie,  Dame  1  Don't  say  such  things  !  "  said  Caioline, 
with  a  shamed,  reproving  look.  "  I  would  think  better  of 
the  Intendant."  Her  gratitude  led  her  to  imagine  ex- 
cuses for  him.  The  few  words  reported  to  her  by  Dame 
Tremblay,  she  repeated  with  silently  moving  lips  and  tendei 
reiteration.  They  lingered  in  her  ear  like  the  fugue  of  a 
strain  of  music,  sung  by  a  choir  of  angelic  spirits.  "  Those 
were  his  very  words,  Dame  1  "  added  she  again,  repeatinj^ 
them — not  for  inquiry,  but  for  secret  joy. 

"  His  very  words,  my  Lady  !  But  why  should  the  Royal 
Intendant  not  have  his  heart's  desire,  as  well  as  that  great 
lady  in  France  t  If  any  one  had  forbidden  my  marrying 
the  poor  Sieur  Tremblay,  for  whom  I  did  not  care  two 
pins,  I  would  have  had  him  for  spite — yes,  if  I  had  had  to 
marry  him  as  the  crows  do,  on  a  tree-top  !  " 

"  But  no  one  bade  you  or  forbade  you.  Dame  1  You 
were  happy,  that  no  one  came  between  you  and  your  heart's 
desire  I"  replied  Caroline.      <     -  .    .  ,        .      4^^^ 

Dame  Tremblay  laughed  out  merrily  at  the  idea, — 
.  "  Poor  Giles  Tremblay,  my  heart's  desire  !  Listen,  Lady,  I 
could  no  more  get  that  than  you  could.  When  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine,  there  was  but  one,  out  of  all  my  ad- 
mirers, whom  I  really  tared  for,  and  he,  poor  fellow,  had  a 
wife  already  I  So  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  threw  my  line  at 
last  in  utter  despair,  and  out  of  the  troubled  sea,  I  drew 
the  Sieur  Tremblay,  whom  I  married,  and  soon  put  cosily 
underground,  with  a  heavy  tombstone  on  top  of  him  to 
keep  him  down,  with  this  inscription,  which  you  may  see 
for  yourself,  my  Lady,  if  you  will,  in  the  churchyard  where 
he  lies. 


iw  'r".    'A 


T^^^dT  -U-'-n 


*  Ci  git  mon  Giles, 
Ah !  qu'il  est  bien, 
Pour  son  repos, 
Etpour  le  mienl' 


J-  if  ..  t.       • 


<  :t\  .  .,"■■*     i-.i     i^i 


THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHIHR 


«49 


'*  Men  are  like  my  Angola  Tabby.  Stroke  them  smoothly 
and  they  will  purr  and  rub  noses  with  you ;  but  stroke  them 
the  wrong  way,  and  whirr  1  they  scratch  your  hands  and 
out  of  the  window  they  fly  I    When  I  was  the  Charming—*' 

''O,  good  Dame,  thanks !  thanks !  for  the  comfort  you 
have  given  me!"  interruptei  Caroline,  not  caring  for  a 
trcsh  reminiscence  of  the  Charming  Josephine.  "  Leave 
me,  I  pray — my  mind  is  in  a  sad  tumult.  I  would  fain 
rest — I  have  much  to  fear,  but  something  also  to  hope  for 
now,'*  she  said,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  in  deep  and 
quiet  thought. 

^  The  Chateau  is  very  still  now,  my  Lady,"  replied  the 
Dame,  "The  servants  are  all  worn  out  with  long  attend- 
ance, and  fast  asleep.  Let  my  Lady  go  to  her  own  apart- 
ments, which  are  bright  and  airy.  It  will  be  better  for 
her  than  this  dull  chamber." 

"  True,  Dame  !  "  Caroline  rose  at  the  suggestion.  "  I 
like  not  this  secret  chamber.  It  suited  my  sad  mood, 
but  now  I  seem  to  long  for  air  and  sunshine.  I  will  go 
with  you  to  my  own  room."  ,  ,,  r? 

They  ascended  the  winding  stair,  and  Caroline  seated 
herself  by  the  window  of  her  own  chamber,  overlooking  the 
park  and  gardens  of  the  Chateau.  The  huge  sloping  forests 
upon  the  mountain  side,  formed,  in  the  distance,  with  the 
blue  sky  above  it,  a  landscape  of  beauty,  upon  which  her 
eyes  lingered  with  a  sense  of  freshness  and  delight. 

Dame  Tremblay  left  her  to  her  musings,  to  go,  she  said, 
to  rouse  up  the  lazy  maids  and  menservants,  to  straighten 
up  the  confusion  of  everything  in  the  Chateau  after  the 
late  long  feast. 

On  the  great  stair,  she  encountered  Mons.  Froumois, 
the  Intendant's  valet,  a  favorite  gossip  of  the  Dame's,  who 
used  to  invite  him  into  her  snug  parlor,  where  she  regaled 
him  with  tea  and  cake,  or,  if  late  in  the  evening,  with  wine 
and  nipperkins  of  Cognac,  wh'le  he  poured  into  her  ear 
stories  of  the  gay  life  cf  Paris,  and  the  bonnes  fortunes  of 
himself  and  master — ^for  the  valet  in  plush,  would  have 
disdained  being  less  successful  among  the  maids  in  the 
servants'  hall,  than  his  master  in  velvet,  in  the  boudoirs  of 
their  mistresses. 

Mons.  Froumois  accepted  the  Dame's  invitation,  and 
tb«  two  were  presently  e imaged  in  a  mel^e  of  gossip  over 
the  savings  and  doings  of  fashionable  society  in  Quebec 


''■  ■  ■  M 


■4; 


ISO 


THB  CHIEN  ly  )X. 


mi 


III ',  { 

m 

rv 


',1 


I    J:^' 


III  ■;  i- 


I  ^1^ 


The  Dame,  holding  between  her  thumb  and  finger  a 
little  china  cup  of  tea,  weP  Heed,  she  called  it,  with  Cognac, 
remarked :  **  They  fairly  run  the  Intendant  down,  Froumois  I 
There  is  not  a  girl  in  the  city  but  laces  her  boots  to  d'»-' 
traction  since  it  came  out  that  the  Intendant  admires  i 
neat,  trim  ankle.  I  had  a  trim  ankle  myself  when  I  wat 
the  Charming  Josephine,  Mons.  Froumois  I " 

**  And  you  have  yet,  Dame,- — If  I  am  a  judge  *  — re- 
plied Froumois,  glancing  down  with  an  air  of  gallantry. 

"  And  you  are  accounted  a  judge — and  ought  to  be  a 
good  one,  Froumois !  A  gentleman  can't  live  at  court  as 
you  have  done,  and  learn  nothing  of  the  points  of  a  fine 
woman  !  "  The  good  Dame  liked  a  compliment  as  well  as 
ever  she  had  done  at  Lake  Beauport  in  her  hey-day  of 
youth  and  beauty.     ^      v;,?;  i  .■  j    :.?•.  i^i     .^  ,f.; 

"  Why,  no.  Dame,"  replied  he  ;  "  one  can't  live  at  court 
and  learn  nothing !  We  study  the  points  of  fine  women  as 
we  do  fine  statuary  in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre.  Only  the 
living  beauties  will  compel  us  to  see  their  best  points,  if 
they  have  them.'*  Mons.  Froumois  looked  very  critical,  as 
he  took  a  pinch  from  the  Dame's  box,  which  she  held  out 
to  him.  Her  hand  and  wrist  were  yet  unexceptionable,  as 
he  could  not  help  remarking. 

**  But  what  think  you,  really,  of  our  Quebec  beauties  ? 
Are  they  not  a  good  imitation  of  Versailles  ? "  asked  the 
Dame. 

"  A  good  imitation !  They  are  the  real  porcelain  I  For 
beauty  and  affability,  Versailles  cannot  exceed  them.  So 
says  the  Intendant,  and  so  say  I,"  replied  the  gay  valet. 
"  Why,  look  you,  Dame  Treniblay,"  continued  he,  extend- 
ing his  well-ringed  fingers.  "  They  do  give  gentlemen  no 
end  of  hopes  here  !  We  have  only  to  stretch  out  our  ten 
digits  and  a  lady  bird  will  light  on  every  one  of  them  1  It 
was  so  at  Versailles — it  is  just  so  here.  The  ladies  in 
Quebec  do  knew  how  to  appreciate  a  real  gentleman  I  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  makes  the  ladies  of  Ville  Marie  so 
jealous  and  angry,"  replied  the  Dame  ;  "  the  King's  officers 
and  ar  the  great  catches  land  at  Quebec  first,  when  they 
come  OLt  from  France  ;  and  we  take  toll  of  them  1  We 
don't  let  n  gentleman  of  them  get  up  to  Ville  Maxie  with- 
out a  Quebec  engagement  tacked  to  his  back,  so  that  all 
Ville  Marie  can  read  it,  and  die  of  pure  spite  I  I  say  we, 
Froumois  ;  but  you  understand  1  speak  of  myself  only  as 


TilE  CHARMING  JOSEPHIKE. 


«5» 


the  Charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beauport     I  must  con* 
tent  myself  now  with  telling  over  my  past  glories." 

"Well  Dame,  I  don't  know.  But  you  are  glorious  yet  t 
But  tell  me,wnat  has  got  over  my  master  fo-day  ?  Was  the  un« 
known  lady  unkind  ?  Something  has  angered  him,I  am  sure  !' 

•*  I  cannot  tell  you,  Froumois  1  Women's  moods  are  not 
to  be  explained,  even  by  themselves."  The  Dame  had 
been  sensibly  touched  by  Caroline's  confidence  in  her,  and 
she  was  too  loyal  to  her  sex  to  repeat  even  to  Froumois 
her  recent  conversation  with  Caroline. 

They  found  plenty  of  other  topics,  however,  and  over 
the  tea  and  Cognac,  the  Dame  and  valet  passed  an  hour 
of  delightful  gossip. 

Caroline,  left  to  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  sat  silent- 
ly with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  Her  thoughts  pressed 
inward  upon  her.  She  looked  out  without  seeing  the  fair 
land Sv;ape  before  her  eyes.      ^.;    -t     •     ;  ,r 

Tears  and  sorrow  she  had  welcomed  in  a  spirit  of  bit- 
ter penitence  for  her  fault  in  loving  one  who  no  longer  re- 
garded her.  "  I  do  not  deserve  any  man's  regard,"  mur- 
mured she,  as  she  laid  her  soul  on  the  rack  of  self-accusa- 
ticn,  and  wrung  its  tenderest  fibres  with  the  pitiless  rigor 
of  a  secret  inquisitor.  She  utterly  condemned  herself, 
while  still  trying  to  find  some  excuse  for  her  unworthy  lov- 
er. At  times  a  cold  half  persuasion  fluttering  like  a  bird 
in  the  snow,  came  over  her,  that  Bigot  could  not  be  utterly 
base.  He  could  not  thus  forsake  one  who  had  lost  all — 
name,  fame,  home,  and  kindred  for  his  sake  !  She  clung 
to  the  few  pitying  words  spoken  by  him  as  a  shipwrecked 
sailor  to  the  plank  which  chance  has  th:  jwn  in  his  way. 
It  might  float  her  for  a  few  hours,  and  she  was  grateful. 

Immersed  in  these  reflections,  Caroline  sat  gazing  at  the 
clouds,  now  transformed  into  royal  robes  of  crimson  and  gold 
— the  gorgeous  train  of  the  sun  fiVed  the  western  horizon. 
She  raised  her  pale  hands  to  her  head,  lifting  the  mass  of 
dark  hair  from  her  temples.  The  fevered  blood  madly  cours- 
ing, pulsed  in  her  ear  like  the  stroke  of  a  bell. 

She  remembered  a  sunset  like  this  on  the  shores  of 
the  Bay  of  Minas,  where  the  thrush  and  oriole  twittered 
their  even-song  before  seeking  their  nests,  where  the  foliage 
of  the  trees  was  all  ablaze  with  golden  fire,  and  a  shimmer- 
ing path  of  sunlight  lay  upon  the  still  waters  like  a  glorious 
bride^e  leading  from  themselves  to  the  bright  beyond. 


"  I 


«$« 


TffE  cniEX  rok. 


m 


r  * 


On  that  well  remcmljercd  nij3;ht,  her  hctrt  had  yielded 
to  Bigot's  pleadings.  She  had  leaned  her  head  upon  hii 
bosom,  and  received  the  kiss  and  gave  the  pledge  that 
bound  her  to  him  for  ever. 

The  sun  kept  sinking — the  forests  on  the  mountain  tops 
burst  into  a  bonfire  of  glory.  Shadows  went  creeping  up 
Itie  hillsides,  until  the  highest  crest  alone  f1<amed  out  as  a 
beacon  of  hope  to  her  troubled  soiJ. 

Suddenly  like  a  voice  from  the  spirit  world,  the  faint 
chime  of  the  bells  of  Charlebourg  floated  on  the  evening 
breeze.  It  was  the  Angelus,  calling  men  to  prayer,  and 
rest  from  their  daily  labor.  Sweetly  the  soft  reverberation 
floated  through  the  forests,  up  the  hill-sides,  by  plain  and 
river,  etrtering  the  open  lattices  of  Chateau  and  cottage 
summoning  rich  and  poor  alike  to  their  duty  of  prayer  and 
praise.  It  reminded  men  of  the  redemption  of  the  world 
by  the  divine  miracle  of  the  incarnation,  announced  by 
Gabriel  the  angel  of  God,  to  the  ear  of  Mary  blessed 
among  women. 

The  soft  bells  rang  on.  Men  blessed  them  and  ceased 
from  their  toils  in  field  and  forest.  Mothers  knelt  by  the  cra- 
dle and  uttered  the  sacred  words  with  emotions  such  as  only 
mothers  feel.  Children  knelt  by  their  mothers,  and  learned 
the  story  of  God's  pity  in  appearing  upon  earth  as  a  little 
child,  to  save  mankind  from  their  sins.  The  dark  Huron 
setting  his  snares  in  the  forest,  and  the  fishers  on  the 
shady  stream  stood  still.  The  voyageur  sweeping  his 
canoe  oVer  the  broad  river,  suspended  his  oar  as  the  sol- 
emn sound  reached  him,  and  he  repeated  the  angel's 
words  and  went  on  his  way  with  renewed  strength. 

The  sweet  bells  came  like  a  voice  of  pity  and  consola- 
tion to  the  ear  of  Caroline.  She  knelt  down,  and  clasping 
her  hands.,  repeated  the  prayer  of  millions. 


"  Ave  Maria!  gratia  plena." 


./-;>»• 


She  continued  kneeling,. offering  up  prayer  after  prayer 
iux  God's  forgiveness,  both  for  herself  and  for  him  who  had 
brought  her  to  this  pass  of  sin  and  misery.  "  Mea  culpa  ! 
Mea  maxima  culpa  /"  repeated  she,  bowing  herself  to  the 
ground.  "  I  am  the  chief  of  sinners ;  who  shall  deliver 
me  from  this  body  of  sin  and  afflicticri  ?  " 
'  The  sweet  bells  kept  ringing.  They  woke  reminiscences 
of  voices  of  by-gone  days.     She  heard  her  father's  tones, 


A.VGEUqUE  DES  AfELOIShS, 


^11 


not  in  anger  as  he  would  speak  now,  but  kind  and  loving  as 
in  her  days  of  innocence,  ^he  heard  her  niother,  long 
dead — oh,  how  liappily  dead,  for  she  could  not  die  of  sor- 
row now,  over  her  deal  cliiKI's  fall.  She  heard  the  voices 
of  the  fair  companions  of  her  youtii,  who  would  think 
shame  of  her  now  ;  and  amidst  them  all,  the  tones  of  tht 
persuasive  tongue  that  wooed  her  ma'den  love.  How 
changed  it  all  seemed  ;  :\\\i\  yet,  as  the  repetition  of  two  or 
three  notes  of  a  bar  of  music  brings  to  recollection  the 
whole  melody  to  which  it  belongs,  the  few  kind  words 
of  Bigot  spoken  that  morning  swept  all  before  them 
in  a  drift  of  hope.  lake  a  star  struggiii^jr  in  the  mist, 
the  faint  voice  of  nn  angel  was  heard  afar  off  in  the 
darkness 

The  rmging  of  t'^e  Angelus  went  on.  Her  heart  was  ut- 
terly melted.  Her  eyes,  long  parched,  as  a  spent  fountain 
in  the  burning  dcert,  wc-e  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  She 
felt  no  longer  the  agor  •  of  the  eyes  that  cannot  weep. 
The  blessed  tears  <lo\\  :i  quietly  as  the  waters  of  Shiloh, 
bringing  relief  t'^  her  poor  so  d,  famishing  for  one  true 
word  of  affect; i>ri.  Long  after  the  sweet  bells  ceased 
their  chime,  Caioline  kept  on  praying  for  him,  and  long 
after  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen  over  the  Ch4teau  of 
Beaumanoir. 

■      "      '■         ,  'h    u\ 

,■  ',,..  •■'  ■  ■•  •  '     '   •  '■.  ■  "f  '10 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


ANGELIQUE   DES   MELOISES.  .'    ' 

*  /^^OME  and  see  me  to-night,  Le  Gard^^ur."  Angdique 
^  des  Meloises  drew  the  bridle  sharply,  as  she  halted 
her  spirited  horse  in  front  of  the  officer  of  the  guard  at  the 
St.  Louis  Gate.  "  Come  and  see  me  to-night ;  I  shall  be 
at  home  to  no  one  but  you.     Will  you  come  .? " 

Had  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  been  ever  so  laggard 
and  indifferent  a  lover,  the  touchof  that  pretty  hand,  and  th« 
glance  from  the  dark  eye  that  shot  fire  down  into  his  very 
heart  would  have  decided  him  to  obey  this  seductive  iavi 
tation. 


i'ti 


»s* 


THE  CJ/IEJV  D'OK. 


li  I 


He  held  her  hand  as  he  looked  up,  with  a  face  radiant 
with  joy.     "  I  will  surely  come,  Angdlique.     But  tell  me — " 

She  interrupted  him,  laughingly  :  "  No ;  I  will  tell  you 
nothing  till  you  come  \     So  good-by  till  then." 

He  would  fain  have  prolonged  the  inter\'iew ;  but  she 
capriciously  shook  the  reins,  and  with  a  silvery  laugh,  rode 
through  the  gate-way  and  into  the  city.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  dismounted  at  her  own  home,  and,  giving  her  horse  in 
charge  of  a  groom,  ran  lightly  up  the  broad  steps  into  the 
house. 

The  family  mansion  of  the  Des  Meloises  was  a  tall  and 
rather  pretentious  edifice,  overlooking  the  fashionable  Rue 
St.  Louis,  where  it  still  stands,  old  and  melancholy,  as 
if  mourning  over  its  departed  splendors.  Few  eyes  look 
up  nowadays  to  its  broad  fa9ade.  It  was  otherwise  when 
the  beautiful  Angdlique  des  Meloises  sat  of  summer  evenings 
on  the  balcony,  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  Quebec's  fairest 
daughters,  who  loved  to  haunt  her  windows,  where  they 
could  see  and  be  seen  to  the  best  advantage,  exchanging 
salutations,  smiles  and  repartees  with  the  gay  young  officers 
and  gallants  who  rode  or  walked  along  the  lively  thorough- 
fare. 

The  house  was,  by  a  little  artifice  on  the  part  of  Ang61ique, 
empty  of  visitors  this  evening.  Even  her  brother,  the 
Chevalier  des  Meloises,  with  whom  she  lived,  a  man  of  high 
life  and  extreme  fashion,  was  to-night  enjoying  the  more 
congenial  society  of  the  officers  of  the  Regiment  de  Beam. 
At  this  moment,  amid  the  clash  of  glasses  and  the  bubbling 
of  wine,  the  excited  and  voluble  Gascons  were  discussing 
in  one  breath,  the  war,  the  council,  the  court,  the  ladies, 
and  whatever  gay  topic  was  tossed  from  end  to  end  of  the 
crowded  mess-table. 

"  Mademoiselle's  hair  has  got  loose  and  looks  like  a 
Huron',s,"  said  her  maid  Lizette,  as  her  nimble  fingers  re- 
arranged the  rich  dark-golden  locks  of  Angdlique,  which 
reached  to  the  floor  as  she  sat  upon  her  fauteuil. 

"  No  matter,  Lizette  ;  do  it  up  d  la  Pompadour^  and 
make  haste.  My  brain  is  in  as  great  confusion  as  my 
hair.  I  need  repose  for  an  hour.  Remember,  Lizette,  I 
am  at  home  to  no  one  to-night  except  the  Chevalier  de 
Repentigny." 

"  The  Chevalier  called  this  afternoon.  Mademoiselle, 
and  was  sorry  he  did  not  find  you  at  home,"  replied  Lizette, 


ANGEUQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


m 


who  saw  the  eyelashes  of  her  mistress  quiver  and  droop  while 
a  flush  deepened  for  an  instant  the  roseate  hue  of  her 
cheek. 

"  I  was  in  the  country — that  accounts  for  it  1  There  I 
My  hair  will  do  ! "  said  Ang^lique,  giving  a  glance  in  the 
great  Venetian  mirror  before  her.  Her  freshly  donned 
r(»be  of  blue  silk  edged  with  a  foam  of  snowy  laces  and 
furbelows,  set  off  her  tall,  lithe  figure.  Her  arms,  bare  to 
the  elbows,  would  have  excited  Juno's  jealousy,  or  Hom- 
o's verse  to  greater  efforts  in  praise  of  them.  Her  dainty 
feet,  shapely,  aspiring  and  full  of  character  as  her  face, 
were  carelessly  thrust  forward,  and  upon  one  of  them  lay 
a  flossy  spaniel,  a  privileged  pet  of  his  fair  mistress. 

The  Boudoir  of  Angdlique  was  a  nest  of  luxury .  and 
elegance.  Its  furnishings  and  adornings  were  of  the  newest 
Parisian  style.  A  carpet  woven  in  the  pattern  of  a  bed  of 
flowers,  covered  the  floor.  Vases  of  Sevres  and  Porcelain 
filled  with  roses  and  jonquils,  stood  on  marble  tables. 
Grand  Venetian  mirrors  reflected  the  fair  form  of  their 
mistress,  from  every  point  of  view — who  contemplated  her- 
self before  and  behind,  with  a  feeling  of  perfect  satisfac- 
tion and  a  sense  of  triumph  over  every  rival,     n!  ^t <Ji£;-4mk:f 

A  harpsichord  occupied  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
an  elaborate  bookcase,  well  filled  with  splendidly  bound 
volumes,  another. 

Ang^lique  had  small  taste  for  reading,  yet  had  made  some 
acquaintance  with  the  literature  of  the  day.  Her  natural 
quick  parts,  and  good  taste,  enabled  her  to  shine,  even  in 
literary  conversation.  Her  bright  eyes  looked  volumes. 
Her  silvery  laugh  was  wiser  than  the  wisdom  of  a  Pre- 
cieuse.  Her  witty  repartees  covered  acres  of  deficiencies 
with  so  much  grace  and  tact,  that  men  were  tempted  to 
praise  her  knowledge  no  less  than  her  beauty. 

She  had  a  keen  eye  for  artistic  effects.  She  loved 
pa'nting,  although  her  taste  was  sensuous  and  voluptuous. 
Character  is  shown  in  the  choice  of  pictures  as  much  as 
in  that  of  books  or  of  companions. 

There  was  a  painting  of  Vanloo.  A  lot  of  full  blooded 
horses  in  a  field  of  clover.  They  had  broken  fence,  and  were 
luxuriating  in  the  rich  forbidden  pasture.  The  triumph 
of  Cleopatra  over  Antony,  by  Le  Brun,  was  a  great  favor- 
ite with  Ang^lique,  because  of  a  fancied,  if  not  a  real  re- 
semblance between  her  oNvn  features  and  those  of  the  famous 


fH^ 


«S6 


r//E  CHrsN  tfOR. 


1  It 

lit' 


It   ' 

r 


■'t  .  ' 

II    '' 


ll*i 


Queen  of  l^gypt.  Portraits  of  favorite  friends,  one  of 
thorn  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  and  a  still  more  recent 
acquisition,  that  of  the  Intendant  Bigot,  adorned  the  walls, 
and  among  them,  was  one  distinguished  for  its  contrast  to 
all  the  rest.  The  likeness  in  the  garb  of  an  Ursuline  of 
her  beautiful  Aunt  Marie  des  Meloises,  who  in  a  fit  of 
caprice  some  years  before,  had  suddenly  forsaken  the 
world  of  fashion,  and  retired  to  the  convent.  Her  s  veet 
soprano  voice  as  it  led  the  choir  in  the  old  Chapel,  was 
the  talk  and  the  admiration  of  the  city.  Men  stood  in 
the  street  to  listen  to  the  angelic  voice  of  the  unseen  nun, 
whose  hidden  beauty  was  said  to  be  reflected  in  the  match 
less  charms  of  Angdlique,  but  her  singing  no  one  in 
New  .  France  could  equal. 

The  proud  beauty  threw  back  her  thick  golden  tresses  as 
she  scanned  her  fair  face  and  magnificent  figure  in  the  tall 
Venetian  mirror.  She  drank  the  intoxicating  cup  of  self- 
flattery  to  the  bottom,  as  she  compared  herself,  feature  by 
feature  with  every  beautiful  woman  she  knew  in  New 
France.  The  longer  she  looked  the  more  she  felt  the 
superiority  of  her  own  charms  over  them  all.  Even  the 
portrait  of  her  aunt,  so  like  her  in  feature,  so  different  in 
expression,  was  glanced  at  with  something  like  triumph 
spiced  with  contempt. 

"  She  was  handsome  as  I,"  cried  Ang^lique.  "  She 
was  fit  to  be  a  queen,  and  made  herself  a  nun!  and  all  for 
the  sake  of  a  man !  I  am  fit  to  be  a  queen  too,  and  the 
man  who  raises  me  nighest  to  a  queen's  estate,  gets  my 
hand  !  My  heart  ? "  she  paused  a  few  moments.  "  Pshaw  !  " 
A  slight  quiver  passed  over  her  lips.  "  My  heart  must  do 
penance  for  the  fault  of  my  hand !  " 

Petrified  by  vanity  and  saturated  with  ambition,  Angd- 
lique  retained  under  the  hard  crust  of  selfishness,  a  soli- 
tary spark  of  womanly  feeling.  The  handsome  face  and 
figure  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  her  beau  ideal  of 
manly  perfection.  His  admiration  flattered  her  pride. 
His  love,  for  she  knew  infallibly  with  a  woman's  instinct, 
that  he  loved  her,  touched  her  into  a  tenderness  such  as 
she  felt  for  no  man  beside.  It  was  the  nearest  approach 
to  love  her  nature  was  capable  of,  and  she  used  to  listen 
to  him  with  more  than  complacency,  while  she  le:her  hand 
linger  in  his  warm  clasp,  while  the  electric  fire  passed  from 
one  to  another,  and  she  looked  into*  his  eyes,  and  spoke  to 


ANGEUQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


«$l 


him  in  those  sweet  undertones  that  win  men's  hearts  to 
woman's  purposes. 

She  believed  she  loved  Le  Gardeur,  but  there  was  no 
depth  in  the  soil  where  a  devoted  passion  could  take  firm 
root.  Still  she  was  a  woman  keenly  alive  to  admiration. 
Jealous  and  exacting  of  her  suitors,  n'ver  willingly  letting 
one  loose  from  her  bonds,  and  with  warm  passions  and  a 
cold  heart,  was  eager  for  the  semb)  ce  of  love,  although 
never  feeling  its  divine  reality. 

The  idea  of  a  unior.  with  Le  Gardeur  some  day  when 
she  should  tire  of  the  whirl  of  fashion,  had  been  a  pleasant 
fancy  of  Angdlique.  She  had  no  fear  of  losing  her  power 
over  him.  She  held  him  by  the  very  heart  strings,  and 
she  knew  it.  She  might  procrastinate,  play  fast  and  loose, 
drive  him  to  the  very  verge  of  madrtess  by  her  coquetries, 
but  she  knew  she  could  draw  him  back,  like  a«bird  held  by 
a  silken  string.  She  could  excite,  if  she  could  not  feel 
the  fire  of  a  passionate  love.  In  her  heart  she  regarded 
men  as  beings  created  for  her  service,  amusement  and 
sport,  to  worship  her  beauty,  and  adorn  it  with  gifts.  She 
took  everything  as  her  due,  giving  nothing  in  return.  Her 
love  was  an  empty  shell  that  never  held  a  kernel  of  real 
womanly  care  for  any  man.  .» 

Amid  the  sunshine  of  her  fancied  love  for  Le  Gardeur, 
had  come  a  day  of  eclipse  for  him,  oi  fresh  glory  for  her. 
The  arrival  of  the  new  Intendant  Bigot,  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  Angdlique's  ambition.  His  high  rank,  his  fabulous 
wealth,  his  connections  with  the  court,  and  his  unmarried 
state,  fanned  into  a  flame  the  secret  aspirations  of  the 
proud,  ambitious  girl.  His  wit  and  gallantry  captivated 
her  fancy,  and  her  vanity  was  full  tod  by  being  singled  out 
as  the  special  object  of  the  Intendant's  admiration. 

She  already  indulged  in  dreams  which  regarded  the  In- 
tendant himself  as  but  a  stepping  stone  to  further  great- 
ness. Her  vivid  fancy,  conjured  up  scenes  of  royal 
splendor,  where,  introduced  by  the  courtly  Bigot,  princes 
and  nobles  would  follow  in  her  train,  and  the  smiles  of 
majesty  itself  would  distinguish  her  in  the  royal  halls  o! 
Versailles. 

Angdlique  felt  she  had  power  to  accomplish  all  this, 
could  she  but  open  the  way.  The  name  of  Bigot,  she  re- 
garded as  the  open  sesame  to  all  greatness.  "  If  women 
rule  France  by  a  right  more  divine  than  that  of  kings,  no 


r4i 


Ii    ' 


l<:  ':* 


Ef    < 


"ii 


1  eg  r//E  cmBif  lyoR. 

woman  has  abetter  right  than  1 1 "  said  she,  gazing  into  the  ' 
mirror  before  her.  "The  kingdom  should  be  mine,  :ind 
death  to  all  other  pretenders  1  And  what  is  needed  after 
all  ? "  thought  she,  as  she  brushed  her  golden  hair  from 
her  temples  with  a  hand  firm  as  it  was  beautiful.  "  It  is  but 
to  pull  down  the  heart  of  a  man !  I  have  done  that,  many 
a  time  for  my  pleasure.  I  will  now  do  it  for  my  profit,  and 
for  supremacy  over  my  jealous  and  envious  sex  !  "         j       ' 

Angelique  was  not  one  to  quail  when  she  entered  the 
battle  in  pursuit  of  any  object  of  ambition  or  fancy.  *'  I 
never  saw  the  man  yet,"  said  she,  "  whom  I  could  not 
bring  to  my  feet  if  I  willed  it  I  The  Chevalier  Bigot  would 
be  no  exception.  That  is,  he  would  be  no  exception— 
the  voice  of  Angdlique  fell  into  a  low  hard  monotone 
as  she  finished  the  sentence — "  were  he  free  from  the 
influence  of  riiat  mysterious  woman  at  Beaumanoir,  who 
they  say  claims  the  title  of  wife  by  a  token  which  even 
Bigot  may  not  disregard  I  Her  pleading  eyes  may  draw 
his  compassion  where  they  ought  to  excite  his  scorn.  But 
men  are  fools  to  woman's  faults  and  are  often  held  by  the 
very  thing  women  never  forgive.  While  she  crouches  there 
like  a  lioness  in  my  path,  the  chances  are  I  shall  never  be 
Chatelaine  of  Beaumanoir — never  until  she  is  gone  1 " 

Angelique  fell  into  a  deep  fit  of  musing  and  murmured 
to  herself,  "  I  shall  never  reach  Bigot  unless  she  he  re- 
moved.    But  how  to  remove  her  ? " 

Aye,  that  was  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx!  Ang61ique's 
life,  as  she  had  projected  it,  depended  upon  the  answer  to 
that  question.  '  -  i     ?  .<i.      ;   f 

She  trembled  with  a  new  feeling ;  a  shiver  ran  through 
her  veins,  as  if  the  cold  breath  of  a  spirit  of  evil  had  pass- 
ed over  her.  A  miner  boring  down  into  the  earth  strikes 
a  hidden  stone  that  brings  him  to  a  dead  stand.  So  An- 
gelique struck  a  hard,  dark  thought  far  down  in  the  depths 
of  her  secret  soul.  She  drew  it  to  the  light  and  gazed  on 
it  shocked  and  frightened. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that !"  cried  the  startled  girl,  crossing 
herself.  ^'■Mtre  de  Dieu!  I  did  not  corceive  a  wicked 
thought  like  that  I  I  will  not  I  I  cannot  contemplate  that ! " 
She  shut  her  eyes,  pressing  both  hands  over  them,  as  if 
resolved  not  to  look  at  the  evil  thought  that  like  a  spirit  of 
darkness  came  when  evoked,  a  id  would  not  depart  when 


A  NGELIQUE  DES  MELOISES.  159 

The  first  suj;gestion  of  sm  comes  creeping  in  an  hour 
of  moral  darkness,  like  a  feeble  mendicant  who  craves  ad* 
mission  to  a  corner  of  our  fireside.  We  let  him  in,  warm 
and  nourish  hini.  We  talk  and  trifle  with  him  from  our 
high  seat,  thinking  no  harm  or  danger.  But  woe  to  us  if 
we  let  the  secret  assassin  lodge  under  our  roof  I  He  will 
rise  up  stealthily  at  midnight,  and  strangle  conscience  in 
her  bed,  murder  the  sleeping  watchman  of  our  uprightness, 
lulled  to  rest  by  the  opiate  of  strong  desire. 

Angdlique  sat  as  in  an  enchanted  circle  round  which 
fluttered  shapes  unknown  to  her  before,  and  the  face  of 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin  went  and  came,  now  approaching, 
now  receding  like  the  phantom  of  a  phantasmagr  '1.  She 
fancied  she  heard  a  rustle  as  of  wings,  a  sharp  cv  *  out 
of  the  darkness  and  all  was  still  I  She  sprang  up  ram- 
bling in  every  limb,  and  supporting  herself  against  a  table, 
seized  a  gilded  carafe  and  poured  out  a  full  goblet  of  wine, 
which  she  drank.  It  revived  her  fainting  spirit ;  she  drank 
another,  and  stood  up  herself  again,  laughing  at  her  own 
weakness. 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 
The  bright  stars  shone  overhead,  the  lights  in  the  street 
reassured  her.  The  people  passing  by  and  the  sound  of 
voices  brought  back  her  familiar  mood.  She  thought  no 
more  of  the  temptation  from  which  she  had  not  prayed  to 
be  delivered,  just  as  the  daring  skater  forgets  the  depths 
that  underlie  the  thin  ice  over  which  he  skims,  careless  as 
a  bird  in  the  sunshine. 

An  hour  more  was  struck  by  the  loud  clock  of  the  Re- 
collets.  The  drums  and  bugles  of  the  garrison  sounded 
the  signal  for  the  closing  of  the  gates  of  the  city  and  the 
setting  of  the  watch  for  the  night.  Presently  the  heavy 
tramp  of  the  patrol  was  heard  in  the  street.  Sober  bour- 
geois walked  briskly  home,  while  belated  soldiers  ran  has- 
tily to  get  into  their  quarters  ere  the  drums  ceased  beating 
the  tattoo. 

The  ^harp  gallop  of  a  horse  clattered  on  the  st'^ny  pave- 
ment, and  stopped  suddenly  at  the  door.  A  light  step  and 
the  clink  of  a  scabbard  rang  on  the  steps.  A  familiar 
rap  followed.  Angdlique,  with  the  infallible  intuition  of  a 
woman  who  recognizes  the  knock  and  footstep  of  her  lover 
from  ten  thousand  others,  sprang  up  and  met  Le  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny  as  he  entered  the  Boudoir.     She  received 


It 


W' 

k' 


i6o 


r//£  CiriEN  ITOR. 


\r^ 


l^-f 


II'     u 


him  with  warrnlh,  even  fondness,  fcr  she  was  proud  of  Le 
Gardeur  and  loved  him  in  her  secret  heart  beyond  all  the 
rest  of  her  admirers. 

"  Welcome,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  exclaimed  she,  giving  both 
hands  in  his — "  I  knew  vou  would  come,  you  are  welcome 
a>  the  returned  pr<>tli<?,a]  !  ' 

"Dear    Any^Jiqt.v  !"  leperued    he,  after   kissing  her 
hands  with  ferv  r.     "  The  prod,.(al  was  sure  to  return. 
He  crrild  not  livt:   lopficr   pi  1h  .   dry  husks  of  mere  rec 
olkctions." 

"  So  he  lose  an  J  came  to  the  house  that  is  full  and 
oveifi<  wing  with  welcome  for  hirn  !  It  is  good  of  you  to 
come,  Le  Gardeur  1  vvhy  have  yo.-  stayed  so  long  away? " 
Ang^Iique  in  the  joy  of  his  presence,  forgot,  for  the  mo- 
ment, her  niec^itrted  ii.fi''"^lity. 

A  swift  stroke  of  her  hand  swept  aside  her  flowing 
skirts  to  clear  a  place  for  him  upon  the  sofa,  where  he  sat 
down  beside  her. 

"  This  is  kind  of  you,  Ang^lique,"  said  he,"  I  did  not 
expect  so  much  condescension  after  my  petulance  at  the 
Governor's  ball ;  I  was  wicked  that  night,  forgive  me." 

"  The  fault  was  more  mine,  I  doubt,  Le  Gardeur." 
Ang^lique  recollected  how  she  had  tormented  him  on  that 
occasion,  by  capricious  slights,  while  bounteous  of  her 
smiles  to  others.  '*  I  was  angry  with  you,  because  of  your 
too  great  devotion  to  Cecile  Tourangeau." 

This  was  not  true,  but  Angdlique  had  no  scruple  to  lie 
to  a  lover.  She  knew  well  that  it  was  only  from  his  vexa- 
tion at  her  conduct,  that  Le  Gardeur  had  pretended  to  re- 
new some  long  intermitted  coquetries  with  the  fair  Cecile. 
"  But  why  were  you  wicked  at  all  that  night  ?  "  inquired 
she,  with  a  look  of  sudden  interest,  as  she  caught  a  red 
cast  in  his  eye,  that  spoke  of  much  dissipation.  "  You 
have  been  ill,  Le  Gardeur  1  •  But  she  knew  he  had  been 
drinking  deep  and  long,  to  drown  vexation,  perhaps,' over 
her  conduct. 

"  I  have  not  been  ill,"  replied  he  ;  "  shall  I  tell  you  the 
Cnith,  Ang^lique  ? ' 

^  "  Always,  ana  all  of  it !  The  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth  I  "  Her  hand  rested  fondly  on  his  ;  no  word 
of  equivocirUon  was  possible  under  that  mode  of  putting 
her  lover  to  the  question:  "Tell  me  why  you  were  wicked 
that  night!" 


ANGELJQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


l6l 


"  Because  I  loved  you  to  madness,  Ang<5lique ;  and  I 
saw  myself  thrust  from  the  first  place  in  your  heart,  and  a 
new  idol  set  uo  in  my  stead.    That  is  the  truth  !  '* 

"That  is  not  the  truth  I  "  exclaimed  she,  vehemently; 
"  and  never  will  be  the  truth,  if  I  know  myself  and  you. 
But  you  don't  know  women,  Le  Gardeur,"  added  she,  with 
a  smile  ;  "you  don't  know  me,  the  one  woman  you  ought 
to  know,  better  than  that ! —  " 

It  is  easy  to  recover  affection  that  is  not  lost.  Ang^- 
lique  knew  her  power,  and  was  not  indisposed  to  excess  in 
the  exercise  of  it.  "  Will  you  do  something  for  me,  Le 
Gardeur?  "  asked  she,  tapping  his  fingers  coquettishly  witli 
her  fan. 

"  Will  I  not  ?  Is  there  anything,  in  earth,  heaven  or 
hell,  Angdlique,  I  would  not  do  for  you,  if  I  only  could 
win  what  I  covet  more  than  life  ?  " 

"What  is  that?"  Ang^lique  knew  full  well,  what  he 
coveted  more  than  life ;  her  own  heart  began  to  beat  re- 
sponsively  to  the  passion  she  had  kindled  in  his.  She 
nestled  up  closer  to  his  side.  "  What  is  that,  Le  Gar- 
deur?" •  -V'^f-J 

"  Your  love,  Ang^lique  !  I  have  no  other  hope  in  life 
if  I  miss  that !  Give  me  your  love  and  I  will  serve  you 
with  such  loyalty  as  never  man  served  woman  with,  since 
Adam  and  Eve  were  created." 

It  was  a  rash  saying,  but  Le  Gardeur  believed  it,  and 
Ang^lique  too.  Still  she  kept  her  aim  before  her.  "  If  I 
give  you  my  love,"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  through  his 
thick  locks,  sending  from  her  fingers  a  thousand  electric 
fires,  "  will  you  really  be  my  knight,  my  Chevalier  preux^ 
to  wear  my  colors  and  fight  my  battles  with  all  the  world  ? ' 

"  I  will  by  all  that  is  sacred  in  man  or  woman  !  Your 
will  shall  be  my  law,  Angdlique ;  your  pleasure  my  con- 
science ;  you  shall  be  to  me  all  reason  and  motive  for  my 
acts,  if  you  will  but  love  me  I " 

"  I  do  love  you,  Le  Gardeur  ! "  replied  she,  impetu- 
ously. She  felt  the  vital  soul  of  this  man  breathing  on 
her  cheek.  She  k  lew  he  spoke  true ;  but  she  was  incapa- 
ble of  measuring  the  height  and  immensity  of  such  a  pas- 
sion. She  accepted  his  love  ;  but  she  could  no  more  con- ' 
tain  the  fulness  of  his  overflowing  affection,  than  the 
pitcher  that  is  held  to  the  Fountain  can  contain  the  stream 
tlut  gushes  forth  perpetually.  ,      ;      •      ,  ■     --^r  i^-^ 

IX 


i6i 


THE  CHJEN  D'OR. 


•1? 


m% 


Angdlique  was  almost  carried  away  from  her  purpose, 
however.  Had  her  heart  asserted  its  rightful  supremacy  \ 
that  is,  had  nature  fashioned  it  larger  and  warmer,  she 
had  there  and  then  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and 
blessed  him  by  the  consent  he  sought.  She  felt  assured 
that  here  was  the  one  man  God  had  made  for  her,  and  she 
was  cruelly  sacrificing  him  to  a  false  idol  of  ambition  and 
vanity.  The  word  he  pleaded  for  hovered  on  her  tongue,' 
ready  like  a  bird  to  ]•  ap  down  into  his  bosom ;  but  she 
resolutely  beat  it  back  into  its  iron  cage. 

The  struggle  was  the  old  one  ;  old  as  the  race  of  man. 
In  the  losing  battle  between  the  false  and  true,  love  rarely 
comes  out  of  that  conflict  unshorn  of  life  or  limb.  Un- 
true to  him,  she  was  true  to  her  selfish  self.  The  thought 
of  the  Intendant  and  the  glories  of  life  opening  to  her, 
closed  her  heart,  not  to  the  pleadings  of  Le  Gardeur,  them 
she  loved  ;  but  to  the  granting  of  his  prayer. 

The  die  was  cast,  but  she  still  clasped  hard  his  hand 
in  hers,  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  go.  "  And  will  you  do 
all  you  say,  Le  Gardeur,  make  my  will  your  law ;  my 
pleasure  your  conscience,  and  let  me  be  to  you  all  reason 
and  motive  ?     Such  devotion  terrifies  me,  Le  Gardeur  ? " 

"  Try  me  !  Ask  of  me  the  hardest  thing  ;  nay  the  wick- 
edest, that  imagination  can  conceive  or  hands  do  ;  and  I 
would  perform  it  for  your  sake."  Le  Gardeur  was  getting 
beside  himself.  The  magic  power  of  those  dark  flashing 
eyes  of  hers  was  melting  all  the  fine  gold  of  his  nature  to 
folly. 

"  Fie  1 "  replied  she,  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  drink  the 
sea.  A  small  thing  would  content  me.  My  love  is  not  so 
exacting  as  that,  Le  Gardeur." 

"  Does  your  brother  need  my  aid,"  asked  he,  "  If  he 
does,  he  shall  have  it  to  half  my  fortune,  for  your  sake  I  " 
Le  Gardeur  was  well  aware  that  the  prodigal  brother  of 
Angdlique  was  in  a  strait  for  money  as  was  usual  with 
him.  He  had  lately  importuned  Le  Gardeur  and  obtained 
a  large  sum  from  him. 

She  looked  up  with  well  affected  indignation.  "  How 
can  you  think  such  a  thing,  Le  Gardeur  ?  my  brother  was 
not  in  my  thought.  It  was  the  Intendant  I  wi..hv:;d  to  ask 
you  about,  you  knov;  him  better  t-  -^n  1."  .;>  i- 

This  was  not  trus.  Ang^lique  had  studied  the  Intend- 
ant in  mind,  person  and  estat  %  weighing  him  scruple  by 


ANGKUQUE  llES  Sftif.OlSKS. 


>6i 


scruple  to  the  last  attainable  atom  of  information.  Noi 
that  she  had  sounded  the  depths  of  Bigot's  soul,  there 
were  regions  of  da  xness  in  his  character,  which  no  eye 
but  God's  ever  penetrated.  Angt^lique  felt,  that  with  all 
her  acuteness,  she  did  not  comprehend  the  Intendani. 

"You  ask  what  I  think  of  tiie  Intendant?  "  asked  he, 
surprised  somewhat  at  the  question. 

"  Yes, — an  odd  question  is  it  not,  Le  Gardeur?"  and 
she  smiled  away  any  surprise  he  experienced. 

"  Truly,  I  think  him  tiie  most  jovial  gentleman  that  evei 
was  in  New  France,"  >yas  the  reply,  "frank  and  open- 
handed  to  his  friends,  laughing  and  dangerous  to  his  foes. 
His  wit  is  like  his  wine,  Angdlique  ;  one  never  tires  of 
either ;  and  no  lavishness  exhausts  it.  In  a  word  I  like 
the  Intendant,  I  like  his  wit,  his  wine,  his  friends  ;  some 
of  them  that  is  !  but  above  all,  I  like  you,  Angdlique  and 
will  be  more  his  friend  than  ever  for  your  sake  ;  since  I 
have  learned  his  ge.ierosity  towards  the  Chevalier  de 
Meloises." 

The  Intendant  had  recently  bestowed  a  number  of 
valuable  shares  in  the  Grand  Company  upon  the  brother 
of  Angelique,  making  the  fortune  of  that  extravagant 
young  nobleman.  .  a. 

"  I  am  glad  you  will  be  his  friend,  if  only  for  my  sake,' 
added  she  coqueuichly.  "  But  some  great  friends  of  ycurs 
like  him  not.  Your  sweet  sister  Amdlie  shrank  like  a  sen- 
sitive plant  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  and  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  put  on  her  gravest  look  to-day  when  I  spoke  of  the 
Chevalier  Bigot. 

Le  Gardeur  gave  Angelique  an  equivocal  look  r>t  men- 
tion of  his  sister.  "  My  sister  Amdlie  is  an  angel  in  the 
flesh,"  said  he.  "A  man  need  be  little  less  than  divine  to 
meet  her  full  approval ;  and  my  good  aunt  has  heard  some- 
thing of  the  genial  life  of  the  Intendant.  One  may  excuse 
a  reproving  shake  3f  her  noble  head." 

"  Colonel  Philibert,  too  !  he  shares  in  the  sentiments 
of  your  aunt  and  sister,  to  say  nothing  of  the  standing  hos- 
tility of  his  father,  the  bourgeois,"  continued  Angelique, 
provoked  at  Le  Gardeur's  apparent  want  of  adhesion. 

"  Pierre  Philibert !  He  may  not  like  the  Intendani. 
He  has  reason  for  not  doing  so  ;  but  I  stake  my  life  upon 
his  honor.  He  will  never  be  unjust  towards  the  Intendant 
or  any  man."  Le  Gardeur  coul  1  not  be  drawn  into  a  cen- 
sure of  his  friend. 


;  'kyk 


t64 


TlIU  CIHEN  DOK. 


if' '  <ti 


It  > 


fiff 


!■    : 


i^^-l 


1^1 


►t    - 


AngtJlique  sheathed  adroit. y  the  clilctto  of  inueuJo 
she  had  drawn  :  **  You  say  ri«;ht,"  said  she,  craftily,  "  Pierre 
Philibert  is  a  gentleman  worthy  of  your  regard.  I  confess 
I  have  seen  no  handsomer  man  in  New  France.  I  have 
been  dreaming  of  one  like  him  all  my  life  !  What  a  pity  I 
saw  you  first,  Le  Gardeur!"  added  she,  pulling  him  by  the 
hair. 

"  I  doubt  you  would  throw  me  to  the  fishes  were  Pierre 
my  rival,  Angelique,"  replied  he,  merrily  ;  '*  but  I  am  in  no 
danger ;  Pierre' s  affections  are,  I  fancy,  forestalled  in  a 
quarter  where  I  need  not  be  jealous  of  his  success." 

"  I  sh  ili  at  any  rate  not  be  jealous  of  your  sister,  Le 
Gardeur,"  said  Angelique,  raising  her  face  to  his,  suffused 
with  a  blush  ;  "  if  I  do  not  give  you  the  love  you  ask  for 
it  is  because  you  have  it  already  ;  but  ask  no  more  at  pres- 
ent from  me — this,  at  least,  is  yours,"  said  she,  kissing  him 
twice,  without  prudery  or  hesitation. 

That  kiss  from  those  adored  lips  sealed  his  fate.  It 
was  the  first  ;  better  it  had  been  the  last.  Better  he  had 
never  been  born  than  have  drank  the  poison  of  her  lips. 

**  Now  answer  me  my  questions,  Le  Gardeur,"  added 
she,  after  a  pause  of  soft  blandishments. 

Le  Gardeur  felt  \\a  fingers  playing  with  his  hair,  as, 
like  Delilah,  she  cut  off  the  seven  loc'^s  of  his  strength. 

*'  There  is  a  lady  at  Beaumanoir,  ttll  me  who  and  what 
she  is,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she. 

He  would  not  have  hesitated  to  betray  the  gate  of  heaven 
at  her  prayer  ;  but,  as  it  happened,  Le  Gardeur  could  not 
give  her  the  special  information  she  wanted  as  to  the  particu- 
lar relation  in  which  that  lady  stood  to  the  Intendant.  Angdl- 
ique,  with  wonderful  coolness,  talked  away  and  laughed  at 
the  idea  of  the  Intendant's  gallantry.  But  she  could  get 
no  confirmation  of  her  suspicions  from  Le  Gardeur.  Her 
inquiry  v/as  for  the  present  a  failure,  but  she  mado  Le 
Gardeur  promise  to  learn  what  he  could,  and  tell  her  the 
result  of  his  inquiries. 

They  sat  long,  conversing  together,  until  the  bell  of  the 
Recollets  sounded  the  hour  of  midnight.  Angelique  looked 
in  the  face  of  Le  Gardeur  with  a  meaning  siiiile,  as  she 
counted  each  stroke  with  her  dainty  finger  on  his  cheek. 
When  finished,  she  sprang  up,  and  looked  out  of  the  lattice 
at  the  summer  night. 

The  stars  were  twir  kl  ng  like  living  things.     Charles' 


ANGEUQUE  DEH  ME/.O/SES, 


.6s 


Wain  lay  inverted  in  the  northern  horizon ;  Bootes  had 
driven  his  sparkling  herd  down  the  slope  of  the  western 
sky.  A  few  thick  tresses  of  hci  jjDlden  hair  hung  negli- 
gently over  her  bosom  and  shoulders.  She  phiced  her 
arm  in  Le  Gardeur's,  hanging  heavily  upon  him,  as  she  di- 
rected his  eyes  to  the  starry  heavens.  The  selfish  schemes 
she  carried  in  her  bosom  dropped  for  a  moment  to  the 
ground.  Her  feet  seemed  to  trample  them  into  the  dust, 
while  she  half  resolved  to  be  to  this  man  all  that  he  be- 
lieved her  to  be,  a  true  and  devoted  woman. 

"  Read  my  destiny,"  Le  Gardeur,  said  she,  earnestly. 
"You  area  Seminarist.  They  say  the  wise  fathers  of  the 
seminary  stuuy  deeply  the  science  of  the  stars,  and  the 
students  all  bt^come  adepts  in  it." 

"  Would  that  my  starry  heaven  were  more  propitious, 
Ang^lique,"  replied  he,  gaily  kissing  her  eyes.  "  I  care 
not  for  other  skies  than  these!  My  fate  and  fortune  are 
here." 

Her  bosom  heaved  with  mingled  passions.  The  word 
of  hope  and  the  word  of  denial  struggled  on  her  lips  for 
mastery.  Her  blood  throbbed  quicker  than  the  beat  of  the 
golden  pendule  on  the  marble  table ;  but,  like  a  bird,  the 
good  impulse  again  escaped  her  grasp. 

"Look,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she.  Her  delicate  finger 
pointed  at  Perseus,  who  was  ascending  the  eastern  heav- 
ens, "  there  is  my  star.  Mfere  Malheur — you  know  her  — 
she  once  said  to  me  that  that  was  my  natal  star  which 
would  rule  my  life." 

Like  all  whose  passions  pilot  them,  Angdlique  believed 
in  destiny. 

Le  Gardeur  had  sipped  a  few  drops  of  the  cup  of  astrol- 
ogy from  the  venerable  Professor  Vallier.  Angdlique's 
finger  pointed  to  the  star  Algol — that  mange,  mutable 
star  that  changes  from  bright  to  dark  with  the  hours,  and 
which  some  believe  changes  men's  hearts  to  stone. 

"  Mbre  Malheur  lied  !"  exclaimed  he,  placing  his  arm 
round  her,  as  if  to  protect  her  from  the  baleful  influence. 
"  That  cursed  star  never  presided  over  your  birth,  Angel- 
ique!    That  is  the  demon  star  Algol." 

Angdlique  shuddered,  aid  pressed  still  closer  to  him,  as 
\L  .n  fear. 

"  Mbre  Malheur  would  not  tell  me  the  meaning  of  that 
star,  but  bad?  me,  if  a  saint,  to  watch  and  wait  j  if  a  sin- 


■'  \ 


r 


166 


THE  Ci/IEAr  LtOR. 


Ipii 


.fw<!''i 


I 


■%t'4 


1 

■i»  - 

if- 


oer,  to  watch  and  pray   ^Vh?it  means  Algol,  Lc  Gardeui  ? 
•he  half  faltered. 

"  Nothing  for  you,  i.)Vc.  A  fig  for  all  the  stars  in  the 
sky!  Your  bright  eyes  outshine  them  all  in  radiance,  and 
overpower  them  in  influence.  All  the  music  of  the  spheres 
is  to  me  discord  compared  with  the  voice  of  Ang^lique 
des  Meloises,  whom  alone  I  love  ! "         .t 

As  he  spoke,  a  strain  of  heavenly  harmony  arose  from 
the  chapel  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  where  they 
were  celebrating  midnight  service  for  the  safety  of  New 
France.  Amid  the  sweet  voices  that  floated  up  on  the 
notes  of  the  pealing  organ  was  clearly  distinguished  that  of 
Mbre  St.  Borgia,  the  aunt  of  Angelique,  who  led  the 
choir  of  nuns.  In  trills  and  cadences  of  divine  melody 
the  voice  of  Mfere  St.  Borgia  rose  higher  and  higher,  like  a 
spirit  mounting  the  skies.  The  words  were  indistinct,  but 
Angelique  knew  them  by  heart.  She  had  visited  her  aunt 
in  the  convent,  and  had  learned  the  new  hymn  composed 
by  her  for  the  solemn  occasion.        ,  "^ ,    '  ,    ,.*>;i 

As  they  listened  with  quiet  awe  to  the  supplicating 
strain,  Angdlique  repeated  to  Le  Gardeur  the  words  of  the 
hymn  as  it  was  sung  by  the  choir  of  nuns : 

,    ^  t  Soutenez,  grande  Reine,       •, 

•     '  Notre  pauvre  pays  1 

'•'.  -t..  II  est  votre  domaine      '    '''''■  .     :    ,     j 

<t  .>  '  Faites  fleurir  nos  lis  I  ■     '      '        '' 

iM«  J'n;         'i  (  L'Anglais  sur nos  frontiires.  ,.     ^j;!-. 

Porte  ses  ^tendards, 

.   ^  Exaucez  nos  priires 

"^r •   ':'^;;" .  .•  Prot^gez  nos  remparts  I **         ' 

The  hymn  ceased.  Both  stood  mute  until  the  watch- 
man cried  the  hour  in  the  silent  street. 

"  God  ble||k  their  holy  prayers,  and  good  night  and  God 
bless  you,  Angelique ! "  said  Le  Gardeur,  kissing  hen  He 
departed  suddenly,  leaving  a  gift  in  the  hand  of  Lizette, 
who  curtseyed  low  to  him,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  as  he 
passed  out,  while  Angdlique  leaned  out  of  the  window 
listening  to  his  horse's  hoofs  until  the  last  tap  of  them  died 
away  on  the  stony  pavement. 

She  threw  herself  upon  her  couch  and  wept  silently. 
The  soft  music  had  touched  her  feelings.  Le  Gardeur's 
love  was  like  a  load  of  gold,  crushi  ig  her  with,  its  weight. 
She  could  neither  parry  it  onward  nor  throw  it  off.    She 


.,>< 


f  i/ 


■\^ 


\ 


1/ 


ANGKUdUE  OES  MELOiSSS. 


167 


fell  at  length  into  a  slumber  filled  with  troubled  dreams. 
She  was  in  a  sandy  wilderness  carryir  ^,'  a  pitcher  of  clear 
cold  water,  and  though  dying  of  thin'  oh<'  would  not  drink, 
but  perversely  poured  it  upon  the  ;.*(Mj:ifl.  she  was  fall- 
ing down  into  unfathomable  abysses  and  pushed  aside  the 
only  hand  stretched  out  to  save  her.  She  was  drowning 
in  deep  water  and  she  saw  Le  Gardeur  buffeting  the 
waves  to  rescue  her  ;  but  she  wrenched  herself  out  of  his 
grasp.  She  would  not  be  saved  and  was  lost  I  Her  couch 
was   surrounded  with  indefinite   shapes   of   embryo  evil. 

She  fell  asleep  at  last.  When  she  awoke  the  sun  was 
pouring  in  her  windows.  A  fresh  breeze  shook  the  trees. 
The  birds  sang  gaily  in  the  garden.  The  street  was  alive 
and  stirring  with  people. 

It  was  broad  day.  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  was  herself 
again.  Her  day  dream  of  ambition  resumed  its  power. 
Her  night  dream  of  love  was  over.  Her  fears  vanished, 
her  hopes  were  all  alive  and  she  began  to  prepare  for  a 
possible  morning  call  from  the  Chevalier  Bigot. 


•    .   :{■'■ 


•i';  ,«, 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

SPLENDID E   MENDAX. 


Amid  the  ruins  of  the  once  magnificent  palace  of  the 
Intendant,  massive  fragments  of  which  still  remain  to  attest 
its  former  greatness,  there  may  still  be  traced  the  outline 
of  the  room  where  Bigot  walked  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  morning  after  the  council  of  war.  The  disturbing 
letters  he  had  received  from  France  on  both  public  and 
private  affairs  irritated  him  while  it  set  his  fertile  brain  at 
work  to  devise  means  at  once  to  satisfy  the  Ma-quise  de 
Pompadour  and  to  have  his  own  way  still. 

The  walls  of  his  cabinet  now  bare,  shattered,  and  roof- 
less !  with  the  blasts  of  six  score  winters,  were  hung  with 
portraits  of  ladies  and  statesmen  of  the  day ;  conspicuous 
among  which  was  a  fine  picture  from  the  pencil  of  Vanloo 
of  the  handsome,  voluptuous  Marquise  de  Pompadour. 

With  a  world  of  faults,  that  celebrated  Dame  whoTuled 


i68 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


if 


,.j 


France,  in  the  name  of  Louis  XV.,  made  some  amends  by 
her  persistent  good  nature  and  her  love  for  art.  The 
painter,  the  architect,  the  sculptor,  and  above  all  the  men 
of  literature  in  France  were  objects  of  her  sincere  admira- 
tion, and  her  patronage  of  them  was  generous  to  profusion. 
The  picture  of  her  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant  had 
been  a  work  of  gratitude  by  the  great  artist  who  painted 
it,  and  was  presented  by  her  to  Bigot  as  a  maik  of  her 
friendship  and  demi  royal  favor.  The  cabinet  itself  was 
furnished  in  a  style  of  regal  magnificence,  which  the 
Intendant  carried  into  all  details  of  his  living. 

The  Chevalier  de  Pean,  the  secretary  and  confidential 
friend  of  the  Intendant  was  writing  at  a  table.  He  looked 
up  now  and  then  with  a  curious  glance  as  the  figure  of  his 
chief  moved  to  and  fro  with  quick  turns  across  the  room. 
But  neith'^r  of  them  spoke. 

Bigot  would  have  been  quite  content  with  enriching 
himself  and  his  friends,  and  turning  out  of  doors  the  crowd 
of  courtly  sycophants  who  clamored  for  the  plunder  of  tb"» 
colony.  He  had  sense  to  see  that  the  course  of  policy  in 
which  he  was  embarked  might  eventually  ruin  New  France. 
Nay,  having  its  origin  in  the  court  might  undermine  the 
whole  fabric  of  the  monarchy.  He  consoled  himself,  how- 
ever, with  the  reflection  that  it  could  not  be  helped.  He 
formed  but  one  link  in  the  great  chain  of  corruption,  and 
one  link  could  not  stand  alone.  It  could  only  move  by 
following  those  which  went  before,  and  dragging  after  it 
those  that  came  behind.  Without  debating  a  useless  point  of 
morals.  Bigot  quietly  resigned  himself  to  the  service  of  Kis 
masters  or  rather  mistresses,  after  he  had  first  served  him- 
self. 

If  the  enormous  plunder  made  out  of  the  administra- 
tion of  the  war  by  the  great  monopoly  he  had  estab- 
lished were  suddenly  to  cease.  Bigot  felt  that  his  genius 
Urould  be  put  to  a  severe  test.  But  he  had  no  misgivings, 
because  he  had  no  scruples.  He  was  not  the  man  to  go 
under  in  any  storm.  He  would  light  upon  his  feet,  as  he 
expressed  it,  if  the  world  turned  upside  down. 

Bigot  suddenly  stopped  in  his  walk.     His  mind  had 

T)eei!  dwelling  upon  the  great  affairs  of  his  Intendancy  and 

:he  mad  policy  of  the  court  of  Versailles.     A  new  thought 

iTUck  him.     He   turned  and  looked  fixedly  at  his  seo- 

«etary. 


SPLENDIDE  MENDAX. 


169 


**  De  Pean !  "  said  he.  **  We  have  not  a  sure  hold  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Repentigny !  That  young  fellow  plays  fast 
and  loose  with  us.  One  who  dines  with  me  at  the  pal* 
ace  and  sups  with  the  Philiberts  at  the  Chien  d'Or,  can- 
not be  a  safe  partner  in  the  Grand  Company  ! —  " 

"  I  have  small  confidence  in  him  either,"  replied  De 
Pean.  "  Le  Gardeur  has  too  many  loose  ends  of  respec- 
tability hanging  about  him  to  make  him  a  sure  hold  for  our 
game." 

"  Just  so !  Cadet,  Varin  and  the  rest  of  you  have  only 
half  haltered  the  young  colt.  His  training  so  far  is  no 
credit  to  you  !  The  way  that  cool  bully  Colonel  Philibert 
walked  off  with  him  out  of  Beaumanoir,  was  a  sublime 
specimen  of  impudence.  Ha !  Ha !  The  recollection  of  it 
has  salted  my  meat  ever  since !  It  was  admirably  per- 
formed !  although,  egad,  I  should  have  liked  to  run  my 
sword  through  Philibert's  ribs !  and  not  one  of  you  all  was 
man  enough  to  do  it  for  me ! " 

"  But  your  excellency  gave  no  hint,  you  seemed  full  of 
politeness  towards  Philibert,"  replied  De  Pean,  with  a  tone 
that  implied  he  would  have  done  it,  had  Bigot  given  the 
hint.  ;      t»> 

"  Zounds  !  as  if  I  do  not  know  it !  But  it  was  provok- 
ing to  be  flouted,  so  politely  too,  by  that  whelp  of  the 
Golden  Dog !  The  influence  of  that  Philibert  is  immense 
over  young  De  Repentigny.  They  say  he  once  pulled  him 
out  of  the  water,  and  is  moreover  a  suitor  of  the  sister,  a 
charming  girl,  De  Pean !  with  no  end  of  money,  lands, 
and  family  power.  She  ought  to  be  secured  as  well  as 
her  brother  in  the  interests  of  the  Grand  Company.  A 
good  marriage  with  one  of  our  party,  would  secure  her, 
and  none  of  you  dare  propose,  by  God  !  " 

"  It  is  useless  to  think  of  proposing  to  her,"  replied  De 
Pean.  "  I  know  the  proud  minx.  She  is  one  of  the 
angelic  ones,  who  regard  marriage  as  a  thing  of  heaven's 
arrangement.  She  believes  God  never  makes  but  one 
man  for  one  woman,  and  it  is  her  duty  to  marry  him  or 
nobody.  It  is  whispered  among  the  knowing  girls  who 
went  to  school  with  her  at  the  Convent,  (and  the  Convent 
girls  do  know  everything,  and  something  more  !)  that  she 
always  cherished  a  secret  affection  for  this  Philibert,  and 
that  she  will  marry  him  some  day."  ■>>  ;.    -■? -,j 

Marry  Satan  !     Such  a  girl  as  that  to  marry  a  cursed 


170 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


v't-n 


M-s- 


li.  ',:; 


i! 

It-, 
1 1        i 


h'V'H 


Philibert!**  Bigot  was  really  irritated  at  the  information, 
"  I  think  "  said  he,  "  women  are  ever  ready  to  sail  in  the 
ships  of  Tarshish,  so  long  as  the  cargo  is  gold,  silver, 
ivory,  apes  and  peacocks !  It  speaks  ill  for  the  boasted 
gallantry  of  the  Grand  Company  if  not  one  of  th«  ncan  win 
this  girl.  If  we  could  gain  her  over,  we  should  have  no 
difficulty  with  the-brother,  and  the  point  is  to  secure  him.* 

"  There  is  but  one  Avay  I  cari  see,  your  excellency.* 
De  Pean  did  not  appear  to  make  his  suggestion  very  cheer- 
fully, but  he  was  anxious  to  please  the  Intendant. 

"  How  is  Jiat  ?  "  the  Intendant  asked  sharply.  He  had 
not  the  deepest  sense  of  De  Pean's  wisdom. 

"  We  must  call  in  woman  to  fight  woman  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  Company,"  replied  the  Secretary. 

"  A  good  scheme  if  one  could  be  got  to  fight  and  win ! 
But  do  you  know  any  woman  who  can  lay  her  fingers  on 
Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  and  pull  him  out  from  among 
the  Honnetes  gens  ?  " 

"  I  do,  your  Excellency.  I  know  the  very  one  can 
do  it,"  replied  De  Pean  confidently.  ^^ 

"  You  do  !  Why  do  you  hesitate  then  ?  Have  you  any 
arriere  pensie  that  keeps  you  from  telling  her  name  at 
once  ? "  asked  the  Intendant  impatiently. 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises.  She  can  do  it,  and 
no  other  woman  in  New  France  need  try ! "  replied  De 
Pean.         •       ri-v  ':  '  •.     ■    ■','■  V  ..■  '■''     t  ■ 

"  Why  she  is  a  clipper  certainly  !  Bright  eyes  like  hers 
rule  the  world  of  fools,  (and  of  wise  men  too)  "  added  Bigot 
in  a  parenthesis.  "  However,  all  the  world  is  caught  by 
that  bird-lime.  I  confess  I  never  made  a  fool  of  myself  but 
a  woman  v/as  at  the  bottom  of  it.  But  for  one  who  has 
tripped  me  up  I  have  taken  sweet  revenge  on  a  thousand. 
If  Le  Gardeur  be  entangled  in  Nerea's  hair,  he  is  safe  in 
our  toils.    Do  you  think  Ang^lique  is  at  home,  De  Pean  ?  ** 

The  Intendant  looked  up  at  the  clock.  It  was  the  usual 
hour  for  morning  calls  in  Quebec. 

**  Doubtless  she  is  at  home  at  this  hour,  your  Excel- 
lency," replied  De  Pean.  "  But  she  likes  her  bed  as 
other  pretty  women  do,  and  is  practising  for  the  pefife  levfe 
like  a  Duchess.     I  don't  suppose  she  is  up  I  "  ,     •:    .', 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  '•eplied  Bigot.  "  A  greater  runa- 
gate in  petticoats  there  U  :ot  in  the  whole  city  !  I  never 
pass  through  the  streets  but  I  see  her," 


SPLENDIDE    MENDAX. 


171 


**  Aye,  that  is  because  she  intends  to  meet  your  Excel- 
lei  cy !  "  Bigot  looked  sharply  at  De  Pean.  A  new  thought 
flashed  in  his  eyes. 

"What  I  think  you  she  makes  a  point  of  it,  De  Pean  ?  *' 

"  I  think  she  would  not  go  out  of  the  way  of  your  Excel- 
lency." De  Pf  an  shufHed  among  his  papers.  But  his  slight 
agitation  was  noticed  by  the  Intendant. 

*'  Hum  i  is  that  your  thought,  De  Pean  ?  Looks  she  in 
this  quarter  ? "  Bigot  meditated  with  his  hand  on  his  chin 
for  a  moment  or  two.  "  You  think  she  is  doubtless  at  home 
this  morning  ? ''  added  he. .  =. 

"  It  was  late  when  De  Repentigny  left  her  last  night,  and 
she  would  have  long  and  pleasant  dreams  after  that  visit  1 
warrant,"  replied  the  Secretary. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  By  St.  Picot !  You  watch  her 
closely,  De  Pean  !  " 

"  I  do,  your  Excellency.    I  have  reason,"  was  the  reply. 

De  Pean  did  not  say  what  his  reason  for  watching 
Angdlique  was  ;  neither  did  Bigot  ask.  The  Intendant 
cared  not  to  pry  into  the  personal  matters  of  his  friends. 
He  had  himself  too  much  to  conceal  not  to  respect  the 
secrets  of  his  associates. 

"Well,  De  Pean  !  I  will  wait  on  Mademoiselle  des 
Meloises  this  morning.  I  will  act  on  your  suggestion,  and 
trust  I  shall  not  find  her  unreasonable."  . 

"  I  hope  your  Excellency  will  not  find  her  unrea- 
sonable, but  I  know  you  will,  for  if  ever  the  devil  of  con- 
tradi  ion  was  in  a  woman  he  is  in  Angtflique  des 
Meloii^es  !"  replied  De  Pean  savagely,  as  if  he  spoke  from 
some  experience  of  his  own.  . 

"  Well  I  will  try  to  cast  out  that  devil  by  the  power  of  a 
still  stronger  one.     Ring  for  my  horse,  De  Pean  I  " 

The  Secretary  obeyed  and  ordered  the  horse.  "  Mind, 
De  Pean  ! "  continued  the  Intendant.  "  The  Board  of  the 
Grand  Company  meet  at  three  for  business  !  actual  busi- 
ness !  not  a  drop  of  wine  upon  the  table,  and  all  sober ! 
not  even  Cadet  shall  come  in  if  he  shows  one  streak  of  the 
grape  on  his  broad  face.  There  is  a  storm  of  peace  coming 
over  us,  and  it  is  necessary  to  shorten  sail,  take  soundings 
and  see  where  we  are,  or  we  may  strike  on  a  rock." 

The  Intendant  left  the  palace  attended  by  a  couple  of 
equerries.  He  rode  throug'ithe  palace  gate  and  into  the 
city.      Habitans  and  citizens  bowed  to  him,  out  of  habitual 


ill 


*1 


K^ 


IP.- 


v-l.^.f.. 


172 


rA^i?  c///£.v  lyoR. 


m\i^ 


respect  for  their  superiors.  Bigot  returned  their  saluta 
tions  with  official  brevity,  but  his  dark  face  broke  into  sun- 
shine as  he  passed  ladies  and  citizens  whom  he  knew  as 
partners  of  the  Grand  Company,  or  partizans  of  his  own 
faction. 

As  he  rode  rapidly  through  the  streetsjnany  an  ill  wish 
followed  him,  until  he  dismounted  before  the  mansion  of 
the  Des  Meloises. 

"  As  I  live  it  is  the  royal  Intendant  himself,"  screamed 
Lizctte,  as  she  ran  out  of  breath  to  inform  her  mistress,  who 
was  sitting  alone  in  the  summer-house  in  the  garden,  be- 
hind the  mansion,  a  pretty  spot  tastefully  laid  out  with 
flower  beds  and  statuary.  A  thick  hedge  of  privet  cut  into 
fantastic  shapes  by  some  disciple  of  the  school  of  Le 
Nostre,  screened  it  from  the  slopes  that  ran  up  towards  the 
green  glacis  of  Cape  Diamond. 

Ang^lique  looked  beautiful  as  Hebe  the  golden  haired, 
as  she  sat  i'n  the  arbor  this  morning.  Her  light  morning 
dress  of  softest  texture  fell  in  graceful  folds  about  her 
exquisite  form.  She  held  a  book  of  Hours  in  her  hand,  but 
she  had  not  once  opened  it  since  she  sat  down.  Her  dark 
eyes  looked  not  soft,  nor  kindly,  but  bright,  defiant,  wanton 
and  even  wicked  in  their  expression — like  the  eyes  of  an 
Arab  steed,  whipped,  spurred,  and  brought  to  a  desperate 
leap.  It  may  clear  the  wall  before  it,  or  may  dash  itself 
dead  against  the  stones.  Such  was  the  temper  of  Ang^lique 
this  morning. 

Hard  thoughts  and  many  respecting  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir — fond,  almost  savage  regret  at  her  meditated  rejec- 
tion of  De  Repentigny — glittering  images  of  the  royal  In- 
tendant, and  of  the  splendors  of  Versailles,  passed  in  rapid 
succession  through  her  brain,  forming  a  phantasmagoria  in 
which  she  colored  everything  according  to  her  ovn  fancy. 
The  words  of  her  maid  roused  her  in  an  inst;int, 

*  Admit  the  Intendant  and  show  him  ir-Ni  the  garden, 
Lizette  !  Now  !  "  said  she,  "  I  shall  end  my  do^ii^ts  about  that 
lady!  Twill  test  the  Intendant's  sincerity  !  Cold,  calculating 
woman  slayer  that  he  is  !  It  shames  me  to  contrast  his  half 
heartedncss  with  the  perfect  adoration  of  my  handsome  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ! 

The  Intendant  entered  the  garden.  Ang^lique  with 
that  complete  self  control  which  distinguishes  a  woman  of 
half  a  heart,  or  no  heart  at  all,  cha  nged  her  whole  demeanor 


^■\ 


SPLENDWE    MEXDAX. 


173 


in 


In  a  mon.ent  from  gravity  to  gayety.  Her  eyes  flashed  out 
pleasure,  and  her  ilimples  went  and  came,  as  she  welcomed 
the  Intendant  to  lier  arbor. 

"  A  friend  is  never  so  welcome  as  when  he  comes  of  his 
own  accord  !  "  said  she,  presenting  her  hand  to  the  Inten- 
dant, who  took  it  with  empressement.  She  made  room  for 
him  on  tlie  seat  beside  her,  dashing  her  skirts  aside  some 
what  ostentatiously. 

Bigot  looked  at  her  admiringly.  He  thought  he  had 
never  seen  in  painting,  statuary,  or  living  form,  a  more 
beautiful  and  fascinatinjj:  woman. 

Angdlique  accepted  his  admiration  as  her  due,  feeling 
no  thanks,  but  looking  many. 

"  The  Chevalier  Bigot  does  not  lose  his  politeness,  how- 
ever long  he  absents  himself !  "  said  she,  with  a  glance  like 
a  Parthian  arrow  well  aimed  to  strike  home. 

"  I  have  been  hunting  at  Beaumanoir,"  replied  he,  ex- 
tenuatingly,  "  That  must  explain,  not  excuse,  my  apparent 
neglect,"  Bigot,  felt  that  he  had  really  been  a  loser  by  his 
absence. 

"  Hunting  !  indeed  !  "  Angelique  affected  a  touch  of 
surprise,  as  if  she  had  not  known  every  tittle  of  gossip  about 
the  gay  party  and  all  their  doings  at  the  Chateau.  "  They 
say  game  is  growing  scarce  near  the  city.  Chevalier,"  con- 
tinued she  nonchalantly,  "  and  that  a  hunting  party  at 
Beaumanoir  is  but  a  pretty  metonomy  for  a  party  of  plea- 
sure, is  that  true  ?" 

"  Quite  true.  Mademoiselle,"  replied  he,  laughing.  "  The 
two  things  are  perfectly  c(jinpatible  like  a  brace  of  lovers, 
all  the  better  for  being  made  one." 

"  Very  gallantly  said  !  "  retorted  she  with  a  ripple  of 
dangerous  laughter,  "  I  will  carry  the  comparison  no 
farther.  Still  T  wager.  Chevalier,  that  the  game  is  not 
worth  the  hunt." 

"  The  play  is  always  worth  the  candle,  in  my  fancy," 
said  he,  with  a  glance  of  meaning ;  "  but  there  is  really 
good  game  yet  in  Beaumanoir,  as  you  will  confess, 
Mademoiselle,  if  you  will  honor  our  party  some  day  with 
your  presence." 

"  Come  now,  Chevalier,"  replied  she,  fixing  him  mis- 
chievously with  her  eyes,  "  'ell  me  what  game  do  you 
find  in  the  forest  of  Beaumraibir .?  " 

'*  Oh !  rabbits,  hares  and  deer,  with  now  and  then  a 
rough  bear  to  try  the  mettle  of  our  chasseurs." 


»74 


TIfE  C  IIIEN  D'OR. 


■K 


"  What !  n  j  foxes  to  chtat  foolish  crows  ?  no  wolves  to 
devour  pretty  Red  Riding  Hoods  straying  in  the  forest  ? 
Come,  Chevalier,  there  is  better  game  than  all  that,"  said 
she.      ^'-^  '•■*  '  ^'^•'^  '^* 

"  Oh,  yes  ? " — he  half  surmised  she  was  rallying  him  now 
— "  plenty,  but  we  don't  wind  horns  after  them." 

"  They  say,"  continued  she,  "  there  is  much  fairer 
game  than  bird  Dr  beast  in  the  forest  of  Beaumanoir,  Che- 
valier." She  went  on  recklessly,  "  Stray  lambs  are  picked 
up  by  Intendants  sometimes,  and  carried  tenderly  to  the 
Ch&teau  !  The  Intendant  comprehends  a  gentleman's  de- 
voirs to  our  sex,  I  am  sure."  '  i- 

Bigot  understood  her  now,  and  gave  an  angry  start 
Angdlique  did  not  shrink  from  the  temper  she  had  evoked. 

"  Heavens !  how  you  look,  Chevalier !  "  said  she,  in  a 
tone  of  half  banter.  "  One  would  think  I  had  accused 
you  of  murder,  instead  of  saving  a  fair  lady's  life  in  the 
forest;  although  woman-killing  is  no  murder,  I  believe,  by 
the  laws  of  gallantry,  as  read  by  gentlemen — of  fashion." 

Bigot  rose  up  with  a  hasty  gesture  of  impatience  and 
sat  down  again.  "  After  all,"  he  thought,  "  what  could 
this  girl  know  about  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  ?  "  He  ans- 
wered her  with  an  appearance  of  frankness,  deeming  that 
to  be  the  best  policy. 

i/;"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  one  day  found  a  poor  suffering 
woman  in  the  forest.  I  took  her  to  the  Chateau,  where  she 
now  is.  Many  ladies  beside  her  have  been  to  Beau- 
manoir. Many  more  will  yet  come  and  go,  until  I  end 
my  bachelordom,  and  place  one  there  in  perpetuity,  as 
*  mistress  of  my  heart  and  home,'  as  the  song  says." 
<  Angdlique  could  coquette  in  half  meanings  with  any 
lady  of  honor  at  Court.  "  Well,  Chevalier,  it  will  be  your 
fault  not  to  find  one  fit  to  place  there.  They  walk  every 
street  of  the  city.  But  they  say  this  lost  and  found  lady  is 
ft  stranger? " 
:      *'  To  me  she  is — not  to  you,  perhaps,  Mademoiselle  1 

The  fine  ear  of  Angdlique  detected  the  strain  of  hypo- 
crisy in  his  speech.  It  touched  a  sensitive  nerve.  She 
spoicc  boldly  now. 

"  Some  say  she  is  your  wife,  Chevalier  Bigot !  "  An- 
g^lique  gave  vent  to  a  feeling  long  pent  up.  She  who 
trifled  with  men  s  hearts  every  iay  was  indignant  at  the 
least  symptom  of  repayment  in  kind.    "  They  say  she  is 


ii'J'. 


SPLENDWE   MENDAX, 


'75 


your  wife,  or  if  no,  your  wife,  she  ought  to  be,  Chevalier | 
and  will  be,  perhaps,  one  of  these  fine  days,  when  you 
have  wearied  of  the  distressed  damsels  of  the  city." 

It  had  been  better  for  Bigot,  better  for  Angdh'que,  that 
these  two  could  have  frankly  understood  each  other.  Bigot, 
in  his  sudden  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  this  girl,  forgot  that 
his  object  in  coming  to  see  her  had  really  been  to  promote 
a  marriage,  in  the  interests  of  the  Grand  Company,  between 
her  and  Le  Gardeur.  Her  witcheries  had  been  too  potent 
for  the  man  of  pleasure.  He  was  himself  caught  in  the  net 
he  spread  for  another.  The  adroit  bird  catching  of  An- 
gdlique  was  too  much  for  him  in  the  beginning.  Bigot's 
tact  and  consummate  heartlessness  with  women  might  be 
too  much  for  her  in  the  end,.  At  the  present  moment  he 
was  fairly  dazzled  with  her  beauty,  spirit,  and  seductiveness. 

"  I  am  a  simple  quail,"  thoftght  he,  "  to  be  caught  by 
her  piping.  Par  Dieu!  I  am  going  to  make  a  fool  of  my- 
self if  I  do  not  take  care  !  Such  a  woman  as  this  I  have 
not  found  between  Paris  and  Naples.  The  man  who  gets 
her  and  knows  how  to  use  her  might  be  Prime  Minister  of 
France.  And  to  fancy  it ! — I  came  here  to  pick  this  sweet 
chestnut  out  of  the  fire  for  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny ! 
FranQois  Bigot !  as  a  man  of  gallantry  and  fashion  I  am 
ashamed  of  you !  " 

These  were  his  thoughts,  but  in  words  he  replied  :  "  The 
lady  of  Beaumanoir  is  not  my  wife,  perhaps  never  will  be." 
Angelique's  eager  question  fell  on  very  unproductive  ground. 

Angdlique  repeated  the  word  superciliously.  "  Per- 
haps !  "  *  Perhaps '  in  the  mouth  of  a  woman  is  consent 
half  won  ;  in  the  mouth  of  a  man  I  know  it  has  a  laxer 
meaning.  Love  has  nothing  to  say  to  '  perhaps.*  It  is 
will  or  shall,  and  takes  no  '  perhaps,'  though  a  thousand 
times  repeated  !  "  '    *  . 

"  And  you  intend  to  marry  this  treasure  trove  of  the 
forest  —  perhaps?"  continued  Angelique,  tapping  the 
ground  with  a  daintier  foot  than  the  Ir.tendant  had  ever 
seen  before. 

*  It  depends  much  on  you,  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises," 
said  he.  "  Had  you  been  my  treasure  trove,  there  had  been 
no  '  perhaps '  about  it."  Bigot  spoke  bluntly,  and  to 
Angelique  it  sounded  like  sincerity.  Her  dreams  were  ac- 
complished. She  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  her  grati- 
ficaiion,  and  felt  no  repugnance  'it  his  familiar  address. 


I  I 


l^(^ 


Tin:  CHEN  ly OR. 


\V"' 


if:; 


The  Intendant  held  out  his  hand  as  he  uttered  the 
dulcet  flattery,  and  she  placed  her  hand  in  his,  but  it  was 
cold  and  passionless.  Her  heart  did  not  send  the  bbod 
leaping  into  her  finger  ends  as  when  they  were  held  in  the 
loving  grasp  of  Le  Gardeur. 

"  Angdlique  !  "  said  he.  It  was  the  first  time  the  Intend- 
ant had  called  her  by  her  name.  She  started.  It  was  the 
unlocking  of  his  heart,  she  thought,  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile  which  she  had  practised  with  infallible  effec* 
upon  many  a  foolish  admirer. 

"  Angdliquc,  I  have  seen  no  woman  like  you  in  New 
Fiance  or  in  Old.  You  are  fit  to  adorn  a  Court,  and  I 
predict  you  will — if — if — " 

"If  what,  Chevalier!"  Her  eyes  fairly  blazed  with 
vanity  and  pleasure.  "  Cannot  one  ac'orn  Courts,  at  least 
French  Courts,  without  ifs  .?" 

"  You  can,  if  you  choose  to  do  so,"  replied  he,  looking 
at  her  admiringly,  for  her  whole  countenance  flashec^  ntense 
pleasure  at  his  remark. 

**  If  1  choose  to  do  so  .?  I  do  choose  to  do  so  !  But 
who  is  to  ^3ho\v  me  the  way  to  the  Court,  Chevalier  r  It  is 
a  long  and  weary  distance  from  New  France." 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way,  if  you  will  permit  me,  An- 
g^lique.  Versailles  is  the  only  fitting  theatre  for  the  dis- 
play of  beauty  and  spirit  like  yours." 

Ang^lique  thoroughly  believed  this,  and  for  a  few 
moments  was  dazzled  and  overpowered  by  the  thought 
of  the  golden  doors  of  her  ambition  opened  by  the  hand 
of  the  Intendant.  A  train  of  images,  full  winged  and  as 
gorgeous  as  birds  of  paradise,  flashed  across  her  vision. 
La  Pompadour  was  getting  old,  men  said,  and  the  King 
was  already  casting  his  eyes  round  the  circle  of  more 
youthful  beauties  in  his  Court  for  a  successor.  "  And  what 
woman  in  the  world,"  thought  she,  "  could  vie  with 
Angelique  des  Meloises  if  she  chose  to  enter  the  arena  to 
supplant  La  Pompadour  ?  Nay,  more  !  If  the  prize  of  the 
King  were  hei  lot,  she  would  outdo  La  Maintenon  herself, 
and  end  by  sitting  on  the  thront." 

Ang61ique  was  not,  however,  a  milkmaid  to  say  yes 
before  she  was  asked.  She  knew  her  value,  and  had 
a  natural  distrust  of  the  Intendant's  gallant  speeches. 
Moreover,  the  shadov*^  of  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  would 
not  wholly  disappear.     "Why  do  yc  u  say  such  flattering 


.STL  EX n IDE  MEM  > J  X. 


^t1 


things  to  me,  Chevalier?  "  asked  she.  **  One  takes  them 
tor  earnest  coming  from  the  Royal  Intendant.  You  should 
leave  trifling  to  the  idle  young  men  of  the  city,  who  have 
no  business  to  employ  them  but  gallanting  us  women." 

"Trifling!  I5y  St.  Jeanne  do  Choisy,  \  was  never 
more  in  earnest,  Mademoiselle  !  "  exclaimed  Bigol  "  I 
offer  you  the  entire  devotion  of  my  heart."  St.  Jeanne  de 
Choisy  was  the  soubriquet  in  the  petits  af>artetnms  for  La 
Pompadour.  Ang^lique  knew  it  very  well,  although  Bigot 
thought  she  did  not. 

"  Faif"  words  are  like  flowers.  Chevalier  ;"  replied  she, 
"  sweet  to  smell  and  pretty  to  look  at.  Rut  love  feeds  on  ripe 
fruit.  Will  you  prove  your  devotion  to  me  if  I  put  it  to 
the  test." 

"  Most  willingly,  Angdiique  !  "  Bigot  thought  she  con- 
templated some  idle  freak  that  might  try  his  gallantry, 
perhaps  his  purse.     But  she  was  in  earnest,  if  he  was  not. 

"  I  ask  then,  the  Chevalier  Bigot,  that  before  he  speaks  to 
me  again  of  love  or  devotion,  he  shall  remove  that  lady 
whoever  she  may  be,  from  Beaumanoir  1 "  Angdlique  sat 
erect  and  looked  at  him  with  a  long  fixed  look  as  she  said 
this. 

"  Remove  that  lady  from  Beaumanoir !  "  exclaimed  he 
in  complete  surprise,  "  Surely  that  poor  shadow  does  not 
prevent  your  accepting  my  devotion,  Angdlique  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  (]oes.  Chevalier !  I  like  bold  men.  Most 
women  do,  but  I  did  not  think  that  even  the  Intendant  of 
New  France  was  bold  enough  to  make  love  to  Ang^lique 
•]es  Meloises  while  he  kept  a  wife  or  mistress  in  stately 
t,eclusion  at  Beaumanoir !  " 

Bigot  cursed  the  shrewishness  and  innate  jealousy  of  the  sex 
which  would  nc;  content  itself  with  just  so  much  of  a  man's 
favor  as  he  chose  to  bestow,  but  must  ever  want  to  rule 
single  and  alone.  "  Every  woman  is  a  despot,"  thoughthe, 
*'  and  has  no  mercy  upon  pretenders  to  her  throne.'' 

"  That  lady,  "  replied  he,  "  is  neither  wife  nor  mistress, 
Mad?.moiselle.  She  sought  the  shelter  of  my  roof  with  a 
cl;iin.  upon  the  hospitality  of  Beaumanoir." 

"  No  doubt,"  Angelique's  nostril  quivered  with  a  fine 
disdain.  "The  hospitality  of  Beaumanoir  is  as  bread  and 
comprehensive  as  its  master's  admiration  for  our  sex  I " 
said  she. 

Bigot  was  not  angry.     He  gave   a  loud  laugh  :  "  You 

12 


v'-l 


Ttlt  cnrhx  DOR. 


"^1 


V  ''I 


women  are  merciless  upon  each  other,  MatleinDisellef  i 
Mid  I  e. 

"  Men  arc  more  merciless  to  wonuMi,  whim  they  beguile 
us  with  insincere  professions  ".  repl.cd  she  rising  up  in  well 
affected  indignation. 

"  Not  so,  Madem  ''•-elle  !  "  Bigot  began  to  feel  annoyed. 
That  lady  is  nothing  lo  me,"  said  he,  without  rising  as  she 
had  done.     He  kept  his  seat. 

"  But  she  has  been  !  you  have  loved  her  at  some  time  or 
other !  and  she  is  now  living  on  the  scraps  and  leavings  of 
former  affection.  I  am  neverdeceived,  Chevalier  !  "  continu- 
ed she,  glancing  down  at  him,  a  wild  light  playing  under  her 
long  eye-lashes,  like  the  illumined  under  edge  of  a  thunder- 
cloud. 

"  But  how  in  St.  Picot's  name  did  yoi  arrive  at  all  this 
knowledge,  Mademoiselle  } "  Bigot  began  to  see  that  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  comply  with  every  caprice  of  this 
incomprehensible  girl  if  he  would  carry  his  point. 

"  Oh  nothing  is  easier  than  for  a  woman  to  divine  the 
truth  in  such  matters,  Chevalier  "  said  she  "  It  is  a  sixth 
sense  given  to  our  sex,  to  protect  our  weakness ;  no  man 
can  make  love  to  two  women,  but  each  of  them  knows 
instinctively  to  her  fingertips  that  he  is  doing  it." 

"  Surely  woman  is  a  beautiful  book  written  in  golden 
letters,  but  in  a  tongue  as  hard  to  understand  as  hieroglyphics 
of  Egypt."  Bigot  was  quite  puzzled  how  to  proceed  with 
this  incomprehensible  girl. 

"  Thanks  for  the  comparison,  Chevalier,"  replied  she, 
with  a  laugh.  "  It  would  not  do  for  men  to  scrutinize  us  too 
closely,  yet  one  woman  reads  another  easily  as  a  horn  book 
of  Troyes,  which  they  say  is  so  easy  that  the  children  read 
it  without  learning." 

To  boldly  set  at  defiance  a  man  who  had  boasted  a  long 
career  of  success  was  the  way  to  rouse  his  pride,  and  determine 
him  to  overcome  her  resistance.  Angelique  was  not  mis- 
taken. Bigot  saw  her  resolution  and  although  it  was  with  a 
mental  reservation  to  deceive  her,  he  promised  to  banish 
Caroline  from  his  chdtesu. 

^„.i,  "  It  was  always  my  good  fortune  to  be  conquered  in  every 
passage  of  arms  with  your  sex,  Angelique,"  said  he,  at  once 
radiant  and  submissive,  "Sit  down  by  me  in  token  of 
amity." 

"  She  complied  without  hesitation  and  sat  down  by  him. 


SPLENDIDE  MENDAX- 


179 


gave  him  her  hand  ag.iin  and  replied  with  an  arch  smil« 
while  a  thousand  inimitable  coquetries  played  about  her 
eyes  and  lips  "  you  speak  now  like  an  Amant  Magnifiqwi^ 
Chevalier!"  *       '^     ^     - - 

"  Quelnue  fort  qu'on  s'en  defende,  .' 

II  y  taut  venir  un  jour  I  ;  u*     <■■'"■ 


u 


It  is  a  bargain  henceforth  and  for  ever  I  Ang^lique  I  " 
said  he,  "  but  I  am  a  harder  man  than  you  imagine.  I 
gi /e  nothing  for  nothing,  and  all  for  very  thing.  Will 
V  Hj  consent  to  aid  me  and  the  Gran*^'  (  '  h^^  any  in  a  matter 

iportance  '. " 

'ill  Inot.'  What  a  question,  Chevauer!  mostwillingly 
'  lid  you  in  anything  proper  for  a  lady  to  do  !  "  added 

sue,   vith  a  touch  of  irony.  i 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  it  right  or  wrong,  proper  or  improper, 
although  there  is  no  impropriety  in  it.  Improper  becomes 
proper  if  you  do  it,  Mademoiselle  !  " 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Chevalier  ?  this  fearful  test  to  prove  my 
loyalty  to  the  Grand  Company  ? —  and  which  makes  you 
such  a  matchless  flatterer  ? "  ;  ir,  ^^ 

"  Just  this,  Angdlique  I  "  replied  he.  "  You  have  much 
influence  with  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny  ?  " 

Angdlique  colored  up  to  the  eyes.  *'  With  Le  Gardeur ! 
What  of  him  ?  I  can  take  no  part  against  the  Seigneur  de 
Repentigny  ?  "  said  she  hastily. 

"  Agamst  him  ?  For  him  I  We  fear  much  that  he  is  about 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  honnetes  gens.  You  can  prevent 
it  if  you  will,  Ang^lique  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  honest  regard  for  the  Seigneur  de  Repen- 
tigny 1"  said  she,  more  in  answer  to  her  own  feelings  than 
to  the  Intendants  remark ;  her  cheek  flushed,  her  fingers 
twitched  nervously  at  her  fan,  which  she  broke  in  her 
agitiJon  and  threw  the  pieces  vehemently  upon  the  ground. 
"  J  have  done  harm  enough  to  Le  Gardeur,  I  fear,"  con- 
tinued she.  "  I  had  better  not  interfere  with  him  any  more  I 
Who  knows  what  might  result  ?  "  she  looked  up  almost  war- 
ningly  at  the  Intendant. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  sincere  a  friend  to  Le  Gar- 
deur," remarked  Bigot,  craftily.  "  You  will  be  glad  to 
learn  that  our  intention  is  to  elevate  him  to  a  high  and 
lucrative  ofiice  in  the  administration  of  the  Company,  un- 


^ 

^^.^. 


w  \r  ^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


L^12.8 

■so    •^^ 


2.5 
2.2 


11.25  i  1.4 


1.6 


V] 


'/I 


>:J 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


i8o 


THE  CHIElf  EfOR. 


m 


mX  ■ 


, 


H 


less  the  Honnetes  Gens  are  before  us  in  gaining  full  posset 
sion  of  him." 

"  They  shall  not  be  before  us  if  I  can  prevent  it, 
Chevalier,"  replied  she,  warmly.  She  was  indeed  grateful 
for  the  implied  compliment  to  Le  Gardeur.  "  No  one  'H'ill 
be  better  pleased  at  his  good  fortune  than  myself." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  was  partly  my  business  to  tell  you  ol 
our  intentions  towards  Le  Gardeur." 

"  Indeed  1 "  replied  she,  in  a  tone  of  pique.  "  I  flattered 
myself  your  visit  was  all  on  my  own  account.  Chevalier." 

"So  it  was."  Bigot  felt  himself  on  rather  soft  ground. 
**  Your  brother,  the  Chevalier  des  Meloises  has  doubtless 
consulted  you  upon  the  plan  of  life  he  has  sketched  out  for 
both  of  you  ? " 

**  My  good  brother  sketches  so  many  plans  of  life  that 
I  really  am  not  certain  I  know  the  one  you  refer  to." 
She  guessed  what  was  coming,  and  held  her  breath  hard 
until  she  heard  the  reply.  iTr.. 

"  Well,  you  of  course  know  that  his  plan  of  life  depends 
mainly  upon  an  alliance  between  yourself  and  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Repentigny." 

She  gave  vent  to  her  anger  and  disappointment.  She 
rose  up  suddenly,  and,  grasping  the  Intendant's  arm 
fiercely,  turned  him  half  round  in  her  vehemence.  "  Chev- 
alier Bigot !  did  you  come  here  to  propose  for  me  on 
behalf  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ? " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle ;  it  is  no  proposal  of  mine, 
— on  behalf  of  Le  Gardeur.  I  sanctioned  his  promotion. 
Your  brother,  and  the  Grand  Company  generally,  would 
prefer  the  alliance.  I  don't !  "  He  said  this  with  a  tone 
of  meaning  which  Ang  Clique  was  acute  enough  to  see  im- 
plied Bigot's  unwillingness  to  her  marrying  any  man — but 
himself — ^was  the  addendum  she  at  once  placed  to  his 
credit.  "  I  regret  I  mentioned  it,"  continued  he,  blandly, 
**  if  it  be  contrary  to  your  wishes." 

"  It  is  contrary  to  my  wishes,"  replied  she,  relaxing  her 
clutch  of  his  arm.  "  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  can  speak 
for  himself.  I  will  not  allow  even  my  brother  to  suggest 
it,  still  less  will  I  discuss  such  a  subject  with  the  Chevaliei 
Bigot." 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me.  Mademoiselle — I  will  not 
call  you  Ang^lique  until  you  are  pleased  with  me  again. 
To  be  sure,  I  should  never  have  forgiven  you  had  you  con* 


V 


SPLENDIDR  MENDAX. 


itl 


tormed  to  your  brother's  wishes.  It  was  what  I  feared 
might  happen,  and  I — I  wished  to  try  you:  that  was 
all ! " 

"It  is  dangerous  trying  me,  Chevaliei,"  replied  she, 
resuming  her  seat  with  some  heat.  "  Don't  try  me  again, 
or  I  shall  take  Le  Gardeur  out  of  pure  spUe"  she  said. 
Pure  love  was  in  her  mind,  but  the  other  word  came  from 
her  lips.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  rescue  him  from  the 
Honnetes  Gens^  but  not  by  marrying  him,  Chevalier — at 
present." 

They  seemed  to  understand  each  other  fully.  "  It  is  ovei 
with  :jow,"  said  Bigot.  "  I  swear  to  you,  Angdlique,  I  did 
not  mean  to  offend  you.     You  cut  deep." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  retorted  she,  smiling.  "  Wounds  by  a  lady 
are  easily  cured.  They  seldom  leave  a  mark  behind,  a 
month  after." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  The  slight  repulse  of  a  lady's 
finger — a  touch  that  would  not  crush  a  gnat — ^will  some- 
times kill  a  strong  man  like  a  sword-stroke.  I  have  known 
such  things  to  happen,"  said  Bigot. 

"  Well,  happily,  my  touch  has  not  hurt  you.  Chevalier. 
But,  having  vindicated  myself,  I  feel  I  owe  you  repara- 
tion. You  speak  of  rescuing  Le  Gardeur  from  the  Hon- 
netes Gens.     In  what  way  can  I  aid  you  ? " 

"  In  many  ways  and  all  ways.  Withdraw  him  from 
them.  The  great  festival  at  the  Philiberts, — when  is  it 
to  be  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  !  See,  they  have  honored  me  with  a  special 
invitation."  She  drew  a  note  from  her  pocket.  "  This  is 
very  polite  of  Colonel  Philibert,  is  it  not  ? "  said  she. 

Bigot  glanced  superciliously  at  the  note.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  go,  Ang^lique  ? "  asked  he. 

"  No ;  although  had  I  no  feelings  but  my  own  to  con* 
suit,  I  would  certainly  go." 

"  Whose  feelings  do  jou  consult,  Ang^lique,"  asked  the 
Int€  ndant,  **  if  not  your  own  ? " 

"Oh,  don't  be  flattered  1 — the  Grand  Company's.  I  am 
ioyal  to  the  association  without  respect  to  persons." 

"  So  much  better,"  said  he.    "  By  the  way,  it  would  not 

be  amiss  to  keep  Le  Gardeur  away  from   the  festival. 

These  Philiberts  and  th  ^  heads  of  the  Honnetes  Gem  have 

great  sway  over  him."  "    ^" 

..;  "  Naturally  ;  they  are  all  his  own  kith  and  kin.    B»it  I 


% 


^ '» >i 


lit.', 


r,  I 


i8a 


rifJS  CHIEN  lyOR, 


will  draw  h  m  away,  if  you  desire  it  I  cannot  prevent  hit 
going,  but  I  can  find  means  to  prevent  his  staying  1 "  added 
she,  with  a  smile  of  confidence  in  her  power. 

"  That  will  do,  Ang^lique ;  anything  to  make  a  breach 
between  them." 

While  there  were  abysses  in  Bigot's  mind  which  Angd* ' 
ique  could  not  fathom,  as  little  did  Bigot  suspect  that 
when  Ang^Iique  seemed  to  flatter  him  by  yielding  to  his 
suggestions  she  was  following  out  a  course  she  had 
already  decided  upon  in  her  own  mind,  from  the  moment 
she  had  learned  that  Cecile  Tourangeau  was  to  be  at  the 
festival  of  Belmont,  with  unlimited  opportunities  of  ex  * 
planation  with  Le  Gardeur  as  to  her  treatment  by  An  ^ 

g^ique.      ■';„■■'.;"        '^y, ;\'"  "  "\r.'  "t;   -"'  '[  '.."'"  ' 

The  Intendaht,  after  sorrie  pleasant  badinage,  rose  and 
took  his  departure,  leaving  Angelique  agitated,  puzzled, 
and  dissatisfied,  on  the  whole,  with  his  visit.  She  reclined 
on  the  seat,  resting  her  head  on  her  harid,  for  a  long  time 
— in  appearance,  the  idlest — in  reality,  the  busiest  brain  of 
any  girl  in  the  city  of  Quebec.  She  felt  she  had  much  to 
do — a  great  sacrifice  to  make — ^but  firmly  resolved,  at 
whatever  cost,  to  go  through  with  it ;  for,  after  all,  the  sao 
rifice  was  for  herself,  and  not  for  others  1 


X'> 


"«>.f.1i.'lsitT?      ■ 


.*n»;;trA."->4{:     'iHi?    ^:VJ^V'/i^'inij1  :/?i   ,>*,•• 


•  r^i    '?.ia; 


' '*■,;: 


'     CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PRINCESS.  ■^'.:^>^  ^'^^o'^ 

The  interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Marie  seemed  like 
another  world,  in  comparisDn  with  the  noisy,  bustling 
Market  Place  in  front  of  it. 

The  garish  sunshine  poured  hot  and. oppressive  in  the 
square  outside,  but  was  shorn  of  its  strength  as  it  passed 
through  the  painted  windows  of  the  cathedral,  filling  the 
vast  interior  with  a  cool,  dim,  religious  light,  broken  by 
tal!  shafts  of  columns,  which  swelled  out  into  ornate  capitals, 
supporting  a  lofty  ceiling,  on  which  was  painted  the 
open  heavens  with  saints  and  angels  adoring  the  Lord. 

A  lofty  arch  of  cunning  work,  overlaid  with  gold,  the 


THE  MEROVn  ClAN  PRINCESS,  igj 

masterpiece  of  Le  Vasseur,  spanned  the  chancel,  like  the 
rainbow  round  the  throne.  Lights  were  burning  on  th* 
altar,  incense  went  up  in  spirals  to  the  roof ;  and  through 
the  wavering  cloud  the  saints  and  angels  seemed  to  look 
down  with  living  faces  upon  the  crowd  of  worshippers  wild 
knelt  upon  the  broad  floor  of  the  church. 

It  was  the  hour  of  vespers.  The  voice  of  the  priest 
was  answered  by  the  deep  peal  of  the  organ  and  the  chant- 
ing of  the  choir.  The  vast  edifice  was  filled  with  harmony, 
in  the  pauses  of  which  the  ear  seemed  to  catch  the  sound 
of  the  river  of  life,  as  it  flows  out  of  the  throne  of  God  and 
the  Lamb. 

The  demeanor  of  the  crowd  of  worshippers  was  quiet 
and  reverential.  A  few  gay  groups,  however,  whose 
occupation  was  mainly  to  see  and  be  seen,  exchanged  the 
idle  gossip  of  the  day  with  such  of  their  friends  as  they 
met  there.  The  fee  of  a  prayer  or  two  did  not  seem  ex- 
cessive for  the  pleasure,  and  it  was  soon  paid. 

The  Perron  outside  was  a  favorite  resort  of  the  gallants 
of  fashion  at  the  hour  of  vespers,  whose  practice  it  was  to 
salute  the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance  at  the  door  by 
sprinkling  their  dainty  fingers  with  holy  water.  Religion, 
combined  with  gallantry,  is  a  form  of  devotion  not  quite 
obsolete  at  the  present  day,  and  at  the  same  place. 

The  church  door  was  the  recognized  spot  for  meeting, 
gossip,  business,  love-making,  and  announcements ;  old 
friends  stopped  to  talk  over  the  news,  merchants  their 
commercial  prospects.  It  was  at  once  the  Bourse  and  the 
Royal  Exchange  of  Quebec.  There  were  promulgated  by 
the  brazen  lungs  of  the  city  crier — royal  proclamations  of 
the  Governor,  edicts  of  the  Intendant,  orders  of  the  Court 
of  Justice,  vendues  public  and  private.  In  short,  the  life 
and  stir  of  the  city  of  Quebec  seemed  to  flow  about  the 
door  of  St.  Marie  as  the  blood  through  the  heart  of  a 
healthy  man.     ^  '^*  '-^ 

.f€'  A  few  old  trees,  relics  of  the  primeval  forest,  had  been 
left  for  shade  and  ornament  in  the  great  market  place.  A 
little  rivulet  of  clear  water  ran  sparkling  down  the  slope 
of  the  square,  where  every  day  the  shadow  of  the  cross 
of  the  tall  steeple  lay  over  it  like  a  benediction. 

A  couple  of  young  men,  fashionably  dressed,  loitered 
this  afternoon  near  the  great  door  of  the  Convent  in  the 
narrow  street  that  runs  into  the  great  square  of  the  market 


184 


THE  Cn/EN  D'OR. 


^^; 


n  ( 


\*  a 


m  I 


■■  it  -  -t 


i'i 


They  walked  about  with  short  impatient  turns,  occasionally 
glancing  at  the  clock  of  the  RecoUets,  visible  through  the 
tall  elms  that  bounded  the  garden  of  the  Grey  Friars.  Pre- 
sently the  door  of  the  Convent  opened.  Half  a  dozen 
gailv-attired  young  ladies,  internes  or  pupils  of  the  convent, 
sallied  out.  They  had  exchanged  their  conventual  dress 
for  their  usual  outside  attire,  and  got  leave  to  go  out  into 
the  world,  on  some  errand,  real  or  pretended,  for  one  houi 
and  no  more. 

They  tripped  lightly  down  the  broad  steps,  and  were 
instantly  joined  by  the  young  men  who  had  been  waiting 
for  them.  After  a  hasty,  merry  hand-shaking,  the  whole 
party  proceeded  in  great  glee  towards  the  Market  Place, 
where  the  shops  of  the  mercers  and  confectioners  offered 
the  attractions  they  sought.  They  went  on  purchasing 
bon-bons  and  ribbons  from  one  shop  to  another,  until  they 
reached  the  Cathedral,  when  a  common  impulse  seized 
them  to  see  who  was  there.  They  flew  up  the  steps  and 
disappeared  in  the  church. 

In  the  midst  of  their  devotions,  as  they  knelt  upon  the 
floor,  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  young  ladies  were  caught  by 
gesticulations  of  the  well-gloved  hand  of  the  Chevalier  des 
Meloises,  as  he  saluted  them  across  the  aisle.       >;?;!;> 

The  hurried  recitation  of  an  Ave  or  two  had  quite  satis- 
fied the  devotion  of  the  Chevalier,  and  he  looked  round 
the  church  with  an  air  of  condescension,  criticizing  the 
music  and  peering  into  the  faces  of  such  of  the  ladies  as 
looked  up,  and  many  did  so,  to  return  his  scrutiny. 

The  young  ladies  encountered  him  in  the  aisle  as  they 
left  the  church  before  the  service  was  finished.  It  had 
long  since  been  finished  for  him,  and  was  finished  for  the 
young  ladies  also,  when  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity  to 
see  who  was  there  and  who  with  whom. 

"  We  cannot  pray  for  you  any  longer,  Chevalier  des 
Meloises !  **  said  one  of  the  gayest  of  the  group  \  "  the 
Lady  Superior  has  economically  granted  us  but  one  hour 
in  the  city  to  make  our  purchases  and  attend  vespers.  Out 
of  that  hour  we  can  only  steal  forty  minutes  for  a  promen- 
ade through  the  city,  so  good  bye,  if  you  prefer  the  church 
to  our  company,  or  come  with  us  and  you  shall  escort  two 
of  us.  You  see  we  have  only  a  couple  of  gentlemen  to  six 
ladies."         'y  ''^  M  '•  -TMnr  -  'ot^-j^vijj;  ^idi 

"  I  much  prefer  your  company,  Mademoiselle  de  Broua* 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PttlNCESS 


«i| 


»» 


nie  1 "  replied  he  gallantly,  forgetting  the  important  meet 
ing  of  the  managers  of  the  Grand  Company  at  the  Palace. 
The  business,  however,  was  being  cleverly  transacted  with- 
out his  help. 

Louise  de  Brouague  had  no  great  esteem  for  the  Chev- 
alier des  Meloises,  but,  as  she  remarked  to  a  compar  ion, 
he  made  rather  a  neat  walking  stick,  if  a  young  lady  c<  tld 
procure  no  better,  to  promenade  with. 

"We  come  out  in  full  force  to-day.  Chevalier,"  said  she, 
with  a  merry  glance  round  the  group  of  lively  girls.  "  A 
glorious  sample  of  the  famous  class  of  the  Louises,  are  we 
not  ? " 

"  Glorious  !  superb !  incomparable !  "  the  Chevalier  re- 
plied, as  he  inspected  them  archly  through  his  glass.  "  But 
how  did  you  manage  to  get  out  ?  One  Louise  at  a  time  is 
enough  to  storm  the  city,  but  six  of  them  at  once  1  The 
Lady  Superior  is  full  of  mercy  to-day." 

"  Oh  I  is  she  ?  listen  !  We^should  not  have  got  permis- 
sion to  come  out  to-day  had  we  not  first  laid  siege  to  the 
soft  heart  of  Mfere  des  Seraphins.  She  it  was  who  inter- 
ceded for  us,  and  lo  !  here  we  are  ready  for  any  adventure 
that  may  befall  errant  demoiselles  in  the  streets  of  Que- 
bec I " 

Well  might  the  fair  Louise  de  Brouague  boast  of  the 
famous  class  of  "  the  Louises,"  all  composed  of.  young  la- 
dies of  that  name,  distinguished  for  beauty,  rank,  and 
fashion  in  the  world  of  New  France. 

Prominent  among  them  at  that  period  was  the  beautiful, 
gay  Louise  de  Brouague.  In  the  full  maturity  of  her 
charms  as  the  wife  of  the  Chevalier  de  Lery,  she  accom- 
panied her  husband  to  England  after  the  cession  of  Canada, 
and  went  to  Court  to  pay  homage  to  their  new  sovereign, 
George  IIL,  when  the  young  king,  struck  with  her  grace 
and  beauty,  gallantly  exclaimed  : 

"If  the  ladies  of  Canada  are  as  handsome  as  you,  I  hav6 
indeed  made  a  conquest ! " 

To  escort  young  ladies,  internes  of  the  Convent,  when 
granted  permission  to  go  out  into  the  city,  was  a  favorite 
pastime,  tiuly  a  labor  of  love  of  the  young  gallants  of  that 
day.  An  occupa/.ion,  if  very  idle,  at  least  very  agree- 
able to  those  participating  in  these  stolen  promenades,  and  , 
which  have  not,  perhaps,  been  altogether  discontinued  in , 
Quebec  even  to  the  present  day  I 


,--/♦-*>  i^. 


ih 


THE  CHIENDOI^. 


fj'f 


VI 


W 


I'  f^  % 


'^  1- 


The  pious  nuns  were,  of  course,  entirely  ignorant  of  tli6 
contrivances  of  their  fair  pupils  to  amuse  themselves  in  the 
city.  At  any  rate,  they  good-naturedly  overlooked  things 
they  could  not  quite  prevent.  They  had  human  hearts 
still  under  their  sniwy  wimples,  and  perhaps  did  not  wholly 
lack  womanly  sympathy  with  the  dear  girls  in  their  charge. 
**  Why  are  you  not  at  Belmont  to-day,  Chevalier  des 
Meloises  ?  "  boldly  asked  Louise  Roy,  a  fearless  little  ques- 
tioner, in  a  gay  summer  robe.  She  was  pretty,  and  sprightly 
as  Titania.  Her  long  chestnut  hair  was  the  marvel  and 
boast  of  the  convent,  and,  what  she  prized  more,  the  ad- 
miration of  the  city.  It  covered  her  like  a  veil  down  to  her 
knees,  when  she  chose  to  let  it  down  in  a  flood  of  splendor. 
Her  deep  grey  eyes  contained  wells  of  womanly  wisdom. 
Her  skin,  fair  as  a  lily  of  Artois,  had  borrowed  from  the 
sun  five  or  six  faint  freckles  just  to  prove  the  purity  of  her 
blood  and  distract  the  eye  with  a  variety  of  charms.  The 
Merovingian  Princess,  the  long-haired  daughter  of  kings,  as 
she  was  fondly  styled  by  the  nuns,  queened  it  wherever  she 
went  by  right  divine  of  youth,  wit  and  beauty.  V 

"  I  should  not  have  had  the  felicity  of  meeting  you. 
Mademoiselle  Roy,  had  I  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  the 
Chevalier,  not  liking  the  question  at  all.  "  I  preferred  not 
to  go." 

"You  are  always  so  polite  and  complimentary,"  re^ 
plied  she,  a  trace  of  pout  visible  on  her  pretty  lips.  "  I  do 
not  see  how  any  one  could  stay  away  who  was  at  liberty  to 
go  to  Belmont !  And  the  whole  city  has  gone  I  am  sure ! 
for  I  see  nobody  in  the  street ! " — She  held  an  eye-glass 
coquettishly  to  her  eye.  "  Nobody  at  all !  "  repeated  she. 
Her  companions  accused  her  afterwards  of  glancing  equiv- 
ocally at  the  Chevalier  as  she  made  this  remark  ;  and  she 
answered  with  a  m  erry  laugh,  that  might  imply  either  as 
Bent  or  denial.    _  .  . ,, 

"  Had  you  heard  in  the  Convent  of  the  festival  at  Bel 
mont.  Mademoiselle  Roy  ? "  asked  he,  twirling  his  cane 
rather  majestically. 

"  We  have  heard  of  nothing  else,  and  talked  of  nothing 
else,  for  a  whole  week  I "  replied  she.  "  Our  mistresses 
have  been  in  a  state  of  distraction  trying  to  stop  our  inces- 
sant whispering  ir  the  school,  instead  of  minding  our  les- 
sons like  good  giris,  trying  to  earn  good  conduct  marks  I 
The  feast,  the  ball,  the  dresses,  the  company,  beat  learn- 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PRINCESS.  ig; 

ing  out  of  our  heads  and  hearts !  only  fancy  1  Chevalier  I  ** 
she  went  on  in  her  voluble  manner.  "  Louise  de  Beaujeu 
here  was  asked  to  give  the  Latin  name  for  heaven,  and 
she  at  once  translated  it  Belmont  I  " 

"Tell  no  school  tales,  Mademoiselle  Roy !"  retorted 
Louise  de  Beaujeu,  her  black  eyes  flashing  with  merri- 
ment. "  It  was  a  good  translation  !  but  tvho  was  it  stum 
bled  in  the  Greek  class,  when  asked  for  the  proper  name 
of  the  Anax  Andron,  «:ie  king  of  men  in  the  Iliad?" 
Louise  Roy  looked  arch  y  and  said  defiantly;  "Go  on  I " 
"Would  you  believe  i :,  Chevalier,  she  replied — Pierre 
Philibert  I  Mbre  Christ  .ne  fairly  gasped,  but  Louise  had 
to  kiss  the  floor  as  a  penance  for  pronouncing  a  gentle- 
man's name  with  such  i  fiction." 

"  And  if  I  did,  I  paic  my  penance  heartily  and  loudly, 
as  you  may  recollect,  Louise  de  Beaujeu,  although  I  con- 
fess I  would  have  prefer  ed  kissing  Pierre  Philibert  himself 
if  I  had  had  my  choice  \  " 

"  Always  her  way  !  won't  give  in  !  never  !  Louise  Roy 
stands  by  her  translatio  i  in  spite  of  all  the  Greek  Lexicons 
in  the  Convent  1"  exc  aimed  Louise  de  Brouague. 

"And  so  I  do,  anri  will,  and  Pierre  Philibert  is  the 
king  of  men,  in  New  France  or  old  !  ask  Am^lie  de  Re- 
pentigny ! "   added  sh» ,  in  a  half   whisper  to  her  com 
panion.  -a .      , 

"  O  she  will  swear  \o  it  any  day !  "  was  the  saucy  re- 
ply of  Louise  de  Brouague.  "  But  without  whispering  it, 
Chevalier  des  Meloises  ! "  continued  she,  "  the  classes  in 
the  Convent  have  all  gone  wild  in  his  favor  since  they 
learned  he  was  in  love  with  one  of  our  late  companions  in 
school.  He  is  the  Prince  Cam  .nilzaman  of  our  fairy 
tales."    "■  :  •■-'-  — :.-.  --">'-  '   >' '-    -  —  ^^^^^^  "^••' 

"  Who  is  that  ?  '*  The  Chevalier  spoke  tartly  rather. 
He  was  excessively  annoyed  at  all  this  enthusiasm  in  be- 
half of  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  Nay,  I  will  tell  no  more  fair}'  tales  out  of  school,  but 
I  assure  you  if  our  wishes  had  wings  the  whole  class  of 
Louises  would  fly  away  to  Belmont,  to-day  like  a  flock  of 
ringdoves."  ' "     •     ;   -       ^. .-......,•  ^  ,,.  f^  -tM.-  . 

Louise  de  Brouague  noticed  the  pique  of  the  Chevalier, 
at  the  mention  of  Philibert,  but  in  that  spirit  of  petty  tor- 
ment with  which  her  sex  avenges  small  slights,  she  con- 
tinued to  irritate  the  vanity  of  the  Chevalier,  whom  in  hei 
heart  she  despised. 


0 


M  f  f . 


■ii  ? 


lA 


THE  CHIEf/  jyOR. 


His  politeness  nearly  gave  way.  He  was  thoroughlf 
disgusted  with  all  this  lavish  praise  Of  Philibert.  He  sud- 
denly recollected  that  he  had  an  appointment  at  the 
Palace,  which  would  prevent  him,  he  said,  enjoying  the 
full  hour  of  absence  granted  to  the  Greek  class  of  the 
Ursiilines. 

"  Mademoiselle  Angdlique  has  of  course  gone  to  Bel- 
mont, if  pressing  engagements  prevent  you,  Chevalier," 
said  Louise  Roy.  "  How  provoking  it  must  be  to  have 
business  to  look  after  when  one  wants  to  enjoy  life  1 " 
The  Chevalier  half  spun  round  on  his  heel  under  the  quiz- 
zing of  Louise's  eye  glass. 

"  No,  Ang^lique  has  not  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  he, 
quite  piqued.  "She  very  properly  declined  to  mingle 
with  the  Messieurs  and  Mesdames  Jourdains,  who  consort 
with  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  I  She  wa:i  preparing  for  9 
ride,  and  the  city  really  seems  all  the  gayer  by  the  absence 
of  so  many  common  place  people  as  have  gone  out  to  Bel- 
mont." , 

Louise  de  Brouague's  eyes  gave  a  few  flashes  of  indig- 
nation. "  Fie  !  Chevalier,  that  was  naughtily  said  of  you 
about  the  good  Bourgeois  and  his  friends,"  exclaimed  she, 
impetuously.  "  Why  the  Governor^  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
and  her  niece,  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  Ho»-tense 
and  Claude  Beauharnois  and  I  know  not  how  many  more 
of  the  very  ^lite  of  society  have  gone  to  do  honor  to 
Colonel  Philibert  I  And  as  for  the  girls  in  the  Convent, 
who  you  will  allow  are  the  most  important  and  most  select 
portion  of  the  community,  there  is  not  one  of  us  but 
would  willingly  jump  out  of  the  window,  and  <io  penance 
on  dry  bread  and  salt  fish  for  a  month,  just  for  one  hour's 
pleasure  at  the  ball  this  evening,  would  we  not,  Louises  "i " 

Not  a  Louise  present  but  assented  with  an  emphasis, 
that  brought  sympathetic  smiles  upon  the  faces  of  the  two 
young  Chevaliers,  who  had  watched  all  this  pretty  play. 
;  The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  bowed  very  low.  "  I  re- 
gret so  much,  ladies,  to  have  to  leave  you  I  but  affairs  of 
State  you  know ! — affairs  of  State  I  The  Intendant  will 
not  proceed  without  a  fu'.l  board,  I  must  attend  the  meet- 
•--^  to-day  at  the  Palace.** 

"Oh,  assuredly.  Chevalier,"  replied  Louise  Roy. 
"  What  would  become  of  the  nation,  what  would  become 
of  the  world,  nay,  what  would  become  of  the  Internes  of 


i;/-- 


i 


THE  MEROVIKGIAN  PRINCESS.  189 

(he  Ursul'nes,  if  statesmen  and  warriors  and  philosophera 
like  you  and  the  Sieurs  Drouillon  and  La  Force  here, 
(this  in  a  parenthesis,  not  to  scratch  tiie  Chevalier  too 
deep),  did  not  take  wise  counsel  for  our  safety,  and  happi- 
ness and  also  for  the  welfare  of  tho  nation  ?  " 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  took  his  departure  under 
this  shower  of  arrows. 

The  young  La  Force  was  as  yet  only  an  idle  dangler 
about  the  city ;  but  in  the  course  of  time  became  a  man  of 
wit  and  energy  worthy  of  his  name.  He  replied  gaily  :— 
»  "Thanks,  Mademoiselle  Roy  !  It  is  just  for  sake  of 
the  fair  internes  of  the  Convent  that  Drouillon  and  I,  have 
taken  up  the  vocation  of  statesmen,  warriors,  philoso- 
phers, and  friends.  We  are  quite  ready  to  guide  your  in- 
nocent footsteps  through  the  streets  of  this  perilous  city, 
if  you  are  ready  to  go." 

"  We  had  better  hasten,  too !  "  ejaculated  Louise  Roy, 
looking  archly  through  her  eye  glass.  "  I  can  see  Bon- 
homme  Michel  peeping  round  the  corner  of  the  Cote  de 
Lery  1  He  is  looking  after  us  stray  lambs  of  the  flock, 
Sieur  Drouillon  I " 

Bonhomme  Michel  was  the  old  watchman  and  Facto 
turn  of  the  Monastery.  He  had  a  general  commission  to 
keep  a  sharp  eye  upon  the  young  ladies;  who  were  allowed 
to  go  out  into  the  city.  A  pair  of  horn  spectacles  usually 
helped  his  vision,  sometimes  marred  it,  however!  when 
the  knowing  gallants  slipped  a  crown  into  his  hand,  to  put 
in  the  place  of  his  magnifiers.  Bonhomme*  Michel,  placed 
all  his  propitiation  money, — he  liked  a  pious  word, — in  his 
old  leathern  sack  which  contained  the  redemption  of  many 
a  gadding  promenade  through  the  streets  of  Quebec. 
Whether  he  reported  what  he  saw  this  time  is  not  re- 
corded in  liie  Vieux  Recit^  the  old  annals  of  the  Convent. 
But  as  Louise  Roy  called  him  her  dear  old  Cupid  I  and 
knew  so  v  ell  how  .0  bandage  his  eyes,  it  is  probable  the 
good  nuns  were  not  informed  of  the  pleasant  meeting  of 
the  Class  Louises  and  the  gentlemen  who  escorted  them 
round  the  city  on  the  present  occasion.  ,   ^  „,^ 

Poor  Michel  Bonhomme  !  This  history  would  be  incom- 
plete unless  it  recorded  his  death  at  a  most  patriarchal 
old  age  in  the  monastery,  when  to  ease  his  good  old  soul 
at  last,  he  piously  bequeathed  his  leathern  sack,  filled  with 
coins  of  every  stamp  paid  him  in  propitiation  of  50  many 


190 


THE  CUIEN  iyOR, 


3(  .' 


w,  „t* 


i       «M         '■ 


liil 


hundred  sweet  stolen  promenades  of  the  lively  intams  of 
the  Convent. 

The  Nuns  were  not  inexorable,  when  he  died  confessing 
his  faults.  They  received  his  bequest,  pardoned  his  occa- 
sirnal  blindness  and  good  nature,  had  masses  said  yearly 
for  his  good  old  soul,  long,  long  after  the  memory  of  his 
honest  Ureton  face  had  been  forgotten  by  the  new  genera- 
tions of  citv  gallants  and    internes  that  followed   in   the  ! 

city  of  Quebec. 

.Mi-  I     -    "  '  '"^^-   ..  -  "'■         ■    i^ili  y- -^'fK 


A'(.    ^t 


i-"-*f''.' 


■  is'^- 


CHAPTER  XIX.    ' 

PUT   MONEY   IN  THY  PURSE. 


•1  f 


The  Chevalier  des  Meloises,  quite  out  of  humor  with 
the  merry  Louises,  picked  his  way  with  quick,  dainty  steps 
down  the  Rue  du  Palais.  The  gay  Louises,  before  re- 
turning to  the  Convent,  resolved  to  make  a  hasty  promen- 
ade to  the  walls  to  see  the  people  at  work  upon  them. 
They  received  with  great  contentment  the  military  salutes  of 
the  officers  of  their  acquaintance  which  they  acknowledged 
with  the  courtesy  of  well  trained  internes^  slightly  exaggerated 
by  provoking  smiles  and  mischievous  glances  which  had 
formed  no  part  of  the  lessons  in  politeness,  taught  them  by 
the  Nuns.  . 

In  justice  be  it  said,  however,  the  girls  were  actuated 
by  a  nobler  feeling  than  the  mere  spirit  of  amusement — a 
sentiment  of  loyalty  to  France,  a  warm  enthusiasm  for 
their  country  drew  them  to  the  walls.  They  wanted  to 
see  the  defenders  of  Quebec,  to  show  their  sympathy  and 
smile  approval  upon  them. 

"  Would  to  heaven  I  were  a  man  !  "  exclaimed  Louise 
de  Brouague,  "  that  I  might  wield  a  sword,  a  spade,  any- 
thhig  of  use,  to  serve  my  country  1  I  shame  to  do  noth- 
ing but  talk,  pray  and  suffer  for  it,  while  every  one  else  is 
working  or  fighting."  :      ^j  ::  -7  .  -— 

Poor  girl !  she  did  not  foresee  a  day  when  the  women 
of  New  France  would  undergo  trials  compared  with  which 
the  sword  stroke  that  kills  the  strong  man  is  as  the  touch 
qI  mercy  j  when  the  batteries  of  Wolfe  would  for  sixt)'-fiv« 


« 


PUT  AfOUKY  LV  77/K  PUfiSB. 


191 


days,  shower  shot  and  sliell  upon  Quebec,  and  tiie  South 
shore,  lor  a  hundred  miles  together,  be  bla/ing  with  the 
fires  of  devastation.  Such  things  were  mercifully  withheld 
from  their  foresight  and  the  light  hearted  girls  went  the 
round  of  the  works  as  gaily  as  they  would  have  tripped  in 
a  ball  room. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises,  passing  through  the  Porte 
du  Pa'ais,  was  hailed  by  two  or  three  young  officers  of  the 
Regiment  of  Beam  who  invited  him  into  the  Guard  House 
to  take  a  glass  of  wine  before  descending  the  steep  hill. 
The  Chevalier  stopped  willingly,  and  entered  the  well 
furnished  quarters  of  the  officers  of  the  guard  wliere  a  cool 
riask  of  Burgundy  presently  restored  him  to  good  humor 
with  himself,  and  consequently  with  the  world. 

"  What  is  up  to-day  at  the  Palace  }  "  asked  Captain 
Monredin,  a  vivacious  Navarrois,"  "all  the  Gros  Bonnets 
of  the  Grand  Company  have  gone  down  this  afternoon  I  I 
suppose  you  are  going  too,  Des  Meloises  ? " 

"  Yes  !  They  have  sent  for  me  you  see  on  affairs  of 
state  !  what  Penisault  calls  '  business,*  not  a  drop  of  wine 
on  the  board  !  Nothing  but  books  and  papers,  bills  and 
shipments,  money  paid,  money  received  !  Doit  et  avoir 
and  all  the  cursed  lingo  of  the  Friponne !  I  damn  the 
Friponne,  but  bless  her  money  1  It  pays,  Monredin  I  It 
pays  better  than  fur  trading  at  a  lonely  out-post  in  the 
northwest."  The  Chevalier  jingled  a  handful  of  coin  in 
his  pocket.  The  sound  was  a  sedative  to  his  disgust  at 
the  idea  of  trade,  and  quite  reconciled  him  to  the  Fri- 
ponne. .  .  !  uim 

"  You  are  a  lucky  dog,  nevertheless,  to  be  able  to  make 
it  jingle  !  "  said  Monredin,  "  not  one  of  us  Bearnois  can  play 
an  accompaniment  to  your  air  of  money  in  both  pockets." 
Here  is  our  famous  regiment  of  Beam,  second  to  none  in 
the  King's  service,  a  whole  year  in  arrear  with  our  pay  I  Gad  I 
I  wish  I  could  go  into  *  business,*  as  you  call  it,  and  woo 
that  jolly  Dame,  La  Friponne  I "  •. .  g.  :      ; 

"  For  six  months  we  have  lived  'on  trust.  Those 
leeches  of  Jews,  who  call  themselves  Christians,  down  in 
the  Sault  au  Matelot, won't  cash  the  best  orders  in  the  regi- 
ment for  less  than  forty  per  cent,  discount !  " 

**  That  is  true  !  "  broke  in  another  officer,  whose  rather 
mbicund  face  told  of  credit  somewhere,  and  the  product 
cf  credit,  good  wine  and  good  dinners  generally.  "  That  is 


la'   -' 

■  '■t 
'■     I. 


192 


r//£  CHIEN  r^OR, 


i'!-'   ■ 


hi,* 


true,  Monredin  I  The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  broker  at  the 
corner  of  the  Cul  de  Sac  had  the  impudence  to  ask  me 
fifty  per  cent,  discount  upon  my  drafts  on  Bourdeauxl  I 
agree  with  Des  Meloises  tb  ^re  ;  business  may  be  a  good 
thing  for  those  who  handle  it,  but  devil  touch  their  dirtv 
fingers  for  me?"  ■  -^^  1 1^    -«i  4-tivi»T  i^Mi^  >i 

"  Don't  condemn  all  of  them,  Emeric,"  said  Captain 
Poulariez,  a  quiet,  resolute-looking  officer.  "  There  is  one 
merchant  in  the  city  who  carries  the  principles  of  a  gen- 
tleman into  the  usages  of  commerce.  The  Bourgeois 
Philibert  gives  cent,  per  cent,  for  good  orders  of  the 
king's  officers,  just  to  show  his  sympathy  with  the  army 
and  his  loVe  for  France."         *^-     .,.  ^         /   »^ 

"  Well,  I  wish  he  were  paymaster  of  the  forces,  that  1*3 
all,  and  then  I  could  go  to  him  if  I  wanted  to,"  replied 
Monredin. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  him  ?"  asked  Poulariez.      ■^^-" 

"  Why,  for  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  so  many  others 
of  us  do  not,"  replied  Monredin.  "  Colonel  Dalquier  en- 
dorses my  orders,  and  he  hates  the  Bourgeois  cordially, 
as  a  hot  friend  of  the  Intendant  ought  to  do.  So,  you  see, 
I  have  to  submit  to  be  plucked  of  my  best  pen-feathers  by 
that  old  Fesse  Mathieu^  Penisault,  at  the  Friponne ! " 

"  How  many  of  yours  have  gone  out  to  the  great  spread 
at  Belmont  ?  "  asked  Des  Meloises,  quite  weary  of  commer- 
cial topics.  ;^    ••']-■'    -/■■■■     -  f}\- 

"  Pardieu  I "  replied  Monredin,  "  except  the  colonel 
and  adjutant,  who  stayed  away  on  principle,  I  think 
every  officer  in  the  regiment  present  company  excepted, 
who  being  on  duty  could  not  go,  much  to  their  chagrin. 
Such  a  glorious  crush  of  handsome  girls  has  not  been 
seen,  they  say,  since  our  regiment  came  to  Quebec."    '*;  • ' 

"  And  not  likely  to  have  been  seen  before  your  distin- 
guished arrival — eh,  Monredin  ?  "  ejaculated  Des  Meloises, 
holding  his  glass  to  be  refilled.  "  That  is  delicious  Bur- 
gundy," added  he.  **  I  did  not  think  anyone  beside  the 
Intendant  had  wine  like  that." 

'  "*rhat  is  some  of  La  Martinifere's  cargo,"  replied  Poul- 
ariez. "  It  was  kind  of  him,  was  it  not  ?  to  remember  us, 
poor  Bearnois  here  on  the' wrong  side  of  the  Atlantic  }  " 

"  And  how  earnestly  we  were  praying  for  that  same 
Burgundy,"  ejaculated  Monredin,  "when  it  came,  as  if 
dropped  upon  us  by  Providence.     Health  and  wealth  tc 


asked 


IJ  ■  ! 


PUT  MONEY  W  THY  PURHB. 


»93 


Captain   La  Martini^re,  and  the  good  frigate  Fteur  dt 

Lysf" 

^    Another  round  followed.  »uv 

"  They  talk  about  those  Jansenist  convulsionnaires  at  the 
tomb  of  Master  Paris,  which  are  setting  all  France  by  the 
ears,"  exclaimed  Monredin,  "  but  I  say  there  is  nothing  so 
contagious  as  the  drinking  of  a  glass  of  wine  like  that/*  u 
J.  "  And  the  glass  gives  us  convulsions,  too»  Monredin,  if 
we  try  it  too  often,  and  no  miracle  about  it  either,"  re- 
marked Poulariez. 

Monredin  looked  up  red  and  puffy,  as  if  needing  a 
bridle  to  check  his  fast  gait. 

But  they  say  we  are  to  have  peace  soon.  Is  that  true, 
Des  Meloises  t  "  asked  Poulariez.  "  You  ought  to  know 
what  is  under  the  cards  before  they  are  played."     i^rg  ;^.   . 

"  No,  I  don't  know ;  and  I  hope  the  report  is  not  true. 
Who  wants  peace  yet  ?  It  would  ruin  the  king's  friends  in 
the  colony,"  Hes  Meloises  looked  as  statesmanlike  as  he 
could  when  Qolivering  this  dictum.  -•'-^f»'fr 

"  Ruin  the  king's  friends !  Who  are  they,  Des  Mel- 
oises?" asked  Poulariez,  with  a  look  of  well-assumed  sur- 
prise. 

"  Why  the  associates  of  the  Grand  Company,  to  be 
sure.  What  other  friends  has  the  king  got  in  New 
France  ?" 

"  Really  I  I  thought  he  had  the  Regiment  of  Beam 
for  a  number  of  them ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  honest 
people  of  the  colony,"  replied  Poulariez,  impatiently. 

•  "  The  Honnetes  Gens,  you  mean  I  "  exclaimed  des  Mel- 
oises. "  Well,  Poulariez,  all  I  have  to  say  is  that  if  this 
colony  is  to  be  kept  up  for  the  sake  of  a  lot  of  shop-keepers 
wood-choppers,  cobblers  and  farmers,  the  sooner  the 
king  hands  it  over  to  the  devil  or  the  English  the  better !  " 

Poulariez  looked  indignant  enough  ;  but  from  the  others 
a  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I 
nijst  begone  to  the  Palace,"  $aid  he."  "  I  dare  say 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  Penisault  will  have  balanced  the  ledgers 
by  this  time,  and  the  Intendant,  who  is  the  devil  for  busi^ 
ness  on  such  occasions,  will  have  settled  the  dividends  for 
the  quarter — the  only  part  of  the  business  I  care  about." 

"But,  don't  you  help  them  with  the  work  a  little ?  " 
asked  Poulariez. 


lit- 


«94 


THE  CH/EN  D'OR. 


ii   '^ 

\\ 

lit 

t 
If  t 

I)      ^ 

It        > 


St      1 


u 


'1' 


i  * 

*      >    < 


**  Not  I ;  I  leave  business  to  them  that  have  a  vocation 
for  it  Besides,  I  think  Cadet,  Varin  and  Penisault  like  to 
keep  the  inner  ring  of  the  company  to  themselves."  He 
turned  to  Emeric :  **  I  hope  there  will  be  a  good  dividend 
to-night,  Emeric,"  said  he.  "  I  owe  you  some  revenge  at 
piquet,  do  I  not  ?  " 

"  You  capoted  me  last  night  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut, 
and  I  had  three  aces  and  three  kings." 

"  But  I  had  a  quatorze^  and  took  the  tishes,"  replied 
Des  Meloises.  *  '  "       "    ,.  ^^ ' ,       ; 

Well,  Chevalier,  I  shall  win  them  back  to-night.  I  hope 
the  dividend  will  be  good.  In  that  way  I,  too,  may  share 
in  the  *  business  '  of  the  Grand  Company." 

"Good-bye,  Chevalier;  remember  me  to  St.  Blague  I" 
(This  was  a  familiar  soubriquet  of  Bigot.)  "  'Tis  the  best 
name  going.  If  I  had  an  heir  for  the  old  chateau  on  the 
Adour,  I  would  christen  him  Bigot  for  luck."      ,,.:,,,;/; 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  left  the  officers,  and  pro- 
ceeded down  the  steep  road  that  led  to  the  Palace.  The 
gardens  were  quiet  to-day.  A  few  loungers  might  be  seen  in' 
the  magnificent  alleys,  pleached  walks  and  terraces.  Beyond 
these  gardens,  however,  stretched  the  king's  wharves  and 
the  magazines  of  the  Friponne.  These  fairly  swarmed 
with  men  loading  and  unloading  ships  and  bateaux,  and 
piling  and  unpiling  goods. 

The  Chevalier  glanced  with  disdain  at  the  magazines, 

and  flourishing  his  cane,  mounted  leisurely  the  broad  steps 

of  the  palace,  and  was  at  once  admitted  to  the  Council 
room.  'f^^'^    '--a^:  .^^:- .■^-;-'';  :'^-   ;^-— ';■ -y;    "\,;-':;- 

"  Better  late  than  never,  Chevalier  des  Meloises  ! 
exclaimed  Bigot,  carelessly  glancing  at  him  as  he  took  a 
seat  at  the  Board,  where  sat  Cadet,  Varin,  Penisault  and  the 
leading  Sf.irits  of  the  Grand  Company.  "  You  are  in  double 
luck  to  day.  The  business  is  over,  and  Dame  Friponne  has 
laid  a  golden  egg  worth  a  Jew's  tooth  for  each  partner  oi 
Uie  Company."  "*    ■ :'':  v; •:::''., 

The  Chevalier  did  not  notice,  or  did  not  care  for,  the 
slight  touch  of  sarcasm  in  the  Intendant's  tone.  "  Thanks, 
Bigot  I  "  drawled  he.  "  My  ^gg  shall  be  hatched  to-night 
down  at  Menut's.  I  expect  to  have  lit/le  more  left  than 
the  shell  of  it  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  never  mind !  We  have  considered  all  that, 
Chevalier.    What  one  loses  another  gets.    It  is  all  in  the 


(( 


^    :i 


?\ 


PUT  MOXEY  IN  rnv  PURSE. 


«9S 


family.  Look  here,"  continued  he,  laying  his  finger  upon 
T  page  of  the  ledger  that  lay  open  before  him,  **  Madem- 
>iselle  Angfelique  dci  Meloises  is  now  a  shareholder  in  the 
Grand  Company.  The  list  of  high,  fair,  and  noble  ladies 
of  the  Court  who  are  members  of  the  Company  will  be 
honored  by  the  addition  of  the  name  of  your  charming 
sister."  ,,.,,,  .;  ,„  . 

The  Chevalier's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as  he  read 
Ang^lique's  name  on  the  book.  A  handsome  sum  of  five 
digits  stood  to  her  credit.  He  bowed  his  thanks  with 
many  warm  expressions  of  his  sense  of  "  the  honor  done 
his  sister  by  placing  her  name  on  the  roll  of  the  ladies  of 
the  Court  who  honor  the  Company  by  accepting  a  share  of 
its  dividends."  -  ^  ,  f  f  i  >tiii*ri^  o- 

"  I  hope  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  will  not  refuse  this 
small  mark  of  our  respect,"  observed  Bigot,  feeling  well 
assured  she  would  not  deem  it  a  small  one." 

"  Little  fear  of  that ! "  muttered  Cadet,  whose  bad 
opinion  of  the  sex  was  incorrigible.  "  The  game  fowls 
of  Versailles  scratch  jewels  out  of  every  dung  hill,  and 
Angelique  des  Meloises  has  longer  claws  than  any  of 
them ! " 

Cadet's  ill  natured  remark  was  either  unheard  or  un- 
heeded. Besides  he  was  privileged  to  say  anything.  Des 
Meloises  bowed  with  an  air  of  perfect  complaisance  to  the 
'Intendant  as  he  answered,  "  I  will  guarantee  the  perfect 
satisfaction  of  Angelique  with  this  marked  compliment  of 
the  Grand  Company.  She  will,  I  am  sure,  appreciate  the 
kindness  of  the  Intendant  as  it  deserves." 

Cadet  and  Varin  exchanged  smiles,  not  unnoticed  by 
Bigot,  who  smiled  too.  "  Yes,  Chevalier,"  said  he,  "  the 
Company  gives*this  token  of  its  admiration  for  the  fairest 
lady  in  New  France.  We  have  bestowed  premiums  upon 
fine  flax  and  fat  cattle  ;  why  not  upon  beauty,  grace,  and 
wit  embodied  in  handsome  women  ?  " 

"  Angelique  will  be  highly  flattered,  Chevalier,"  replied 
he,  "  at  the  distinction.  She  must  thank  you  herself,  as  I 
am  sure  she  will." 

"  I  am  happy  to  try  to  deserve  her  thanks,"  replied 
Bigot ;  and,  not  caring  to  talk  further  on  the  subject  • 
"  what  news  in  the  city  this  afternoon.  Chevalier  ; "  asked 
he ;  "  how  does  that  affair  at  Belmont  go  off  ? " 

"  Don't  know.     Half  the  city  has  gone,  I  think.     At 


r;s 


196 


THE  CHIEN  D'OK. 


lit:     •' 
It-* 


if 


'Iffi      I' 


f  i 


die  Church  door,  however,  the  talk  among  the  merchants  it 
that  peace  is  going  to  be  made  soon.  Is  it  so  verj'  threat- 
ening, Bigot  ? " 

"  If  the  King  wills  it,  it  is."     Bigot  spoke  carelessly. 

"  But  your  own  opinion,  Chevalier  Bigot ;  what  think 

you  of  it?"  itJ^  airm4*.>ui   s»^|;      Ai*    J;;;,  v/    3m 

"Amen  I  amen  I  Quod  fiat  fiatur  I  Seigny  John,  the 
fool  of  Paris,  could  enlighten  you  as  well  as  I  could  as  to 
what  the  women  at  Versailles  may  decide  to  do,"  replied 
Bigot  in  a  tone  of  impatience. 

"  I  fear  peace  will  be  made.  What  will  you  do  in  that 
case.  Bigot  ? "  asked  Des  Meloises,  not  noticing  Bigot's 
aversion  to  the  topic.      /'     '•    '     ^^  .  •" /«t  *  •  tr  u^•r^.v: 

"  If  the  King  makes  it.  Invitus  amaho  /  as  the  man 
said  who  married  the  shrew."  Bigot  laughed  mockingly. 
"  We  must  make  the  best  of  it,  Des  Meloises  !  and  let  me 
tell  you  privately,  I  mean  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it  for 
ourselves,  whichever  way  it  turns."  -*  ^' 

**  But  what  will  become  of  the  Company  should  the  war 
expenditure  stop  ? "  The  Chevalier  was  thinking  of  his 
dividend  of  five  figures. 

"  Oh  I  you  should  have  been  here  sooner,  Des  Meloises. 
you  would  have  heard  our  grand  settlement  of  the  question 
in  every  contingency  of  peace  or  war." 

"  Be  sure  of  one  thing,"  continued  Bigot,  "  the  Grand 
Company  will  not,  like  the  eels  of  Melun,  cry  out  before 
they  are  skinned.  What  says  the  proverb,  ^  Mieux  vaut 
engin  que  force ' "  (cr  aft  beats  strength).  **  The  Grand  Com- 
pany must  prosper  as  the  first  condition  of  life  in  New 
France.  Perhaps  a  year  or  two  of  repose  may  not  be 
amiss,  to  revictual  and  reinforce  the  colony ;  and  by  that 
time  we  shall  be  ready  to  pick  the  lock  of  Bellona's  temple 
again,  and  cry  Vive  la  Guerre  1  Vive  la  Grande  Compagnie ! 
more  merrily  than  ever !  " 

Bigot's  far-reaching  intellect  forecast  the  course  of 
events,  which  remained  so  much  subject  to  his  own  direc- 
tion after  the  peace  of  Aix  la  Chapelle — a  peace  which  in 
America  was  never  a  peace  at  all,  but  only  an  armed  and 
troubled  truce  between  he  clashing  interests  and  rival 
ambitions  of  the  French  and  English  in  the  new  world. 

The  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Managers  of  the  Grand 
Company  broke  up,  and — a  circumstance  that  rarely  hap- 
pened— without  the  customary  debauch.     Bigot,  preocoi 


PUT  MONEY  IN  THY  PUNSE. 


*9r 


pied  with  his  own  projects,  which  reached  far  beyond  the 
mere  interests  of  the  Company,  retired  to  his  couch. 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  Penisault,  forming  an  interior  circle  of 
the  Friponne,  had  certain  matters  to  shape  for  the  Com- 
pany's eye.  The  rings  of  corruption  in  the  Grand  Com- 
pany descended,  narrower  and  more  black  and  precipitous^ 
down  to  the  bottom  where  Bigot  sat,  the  Demiurgos  o( 
all. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  was  rather  proud  of  his 
sister's  beauty  and  cleverness,  and  in  truth  a  little  afraid 
of  her.  They  lived  together  harmoniously  enough,  so  long 
as  each  allowed  the  other  his  or  her  own  way.  Both  took 
it,  and  followed  their  own  pleasures,  and  were  not  usually 
disagreeable  to  one  another,  except  when  Ang^lique  com- 
mented on  what  she  called  his  penuriousness,  and  he 
upon  her  extravagance,  in  the  financial  administration  o£ 
the  family  of  the  Des  Meloises. 

The  Chevalier  was  highly  delighted  to-day  to  be  able 
to  inform  Ang^lique  of  her  good  fortune  in  becoming  a 
partner  of  the  Friponne,  and  that  too  by  grace  of  his  Elx- 
cellency  the  Intendant.  The  information  filled  Anedlique 
with  delight,  not  only  because  it  made  her  independent  of 
her  brother's  mismanagement  of  money,  but  it  opened  a 
door  to  her  wildest  hopes.  In  that  gift — her  ambition 
found  a  potent  ally  to  enable  her  to  resist  the  appeal  to 
her  heart,  which  she  knew  would  be  made  to  night,  by  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny.  •      >    .:  ;/* 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  had  no  idea  of  his  sister's 
own  aims.  He  had  long  nourished  a  foolish  fancy,  that  if 
he  had  not  obtained  the  hand  of  the  wealthy  and  beautiful 
heiress  of  Repentigny,  it  was  because  he  had  not  pro- 
posed. Something  to-day  had  suggested  the  thought  that 
unless  he  did  propose  soon,  his  chances  would  be  nil,  and 
another  might  secure  the  prize  which  he  had  in  his  vain 
fancy  set  down  as  his  own. 

"  He  hinted  to  Ang^lique  to-day,  that  he  had  almost  re- 
solved to  marry,  and  that  his  projected  alliance  with  the 
noble  and  wealthy  house  of  Tilly  could  be  easily  accom> 
pHshed,  if  Ang^lique  would  only  do  her  share  as  a  sistei 
ought,  in  securing  her  brother's  fortune  and  happiness. 

"How?'*  asked  she,  looking  up  savagely,  for  she  knew 
irell  what  her  brother  was  driving  at. 

**  By  your  accepting  Le  Gardeur  without  more  delay  \ 


tV 


t9S 


THE  CHlEt/  UfOtt 


!  * 


li'l 

'  if 


|!'    I 


If.  -^ 


All  the  city  know;  he  is  mad  in  love,  a  id  would  marry  yoii 
any  day  you  choose,  if  you  wore  only  the  hair  on  your 
head.     He  would  ask  no  better  fortune  1  " 

"  It  is  useless  to  advise  me,  Renaud  I "  said  she,  "  and 
whether  I  take  Le  Gardeur  or  no,  it  would  not  help  your 
chance  with  Amdlie !  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  Amdlie  is  a 
prize,  Renaud  !  but  not  for  you  at  any  price.  Let  me  tell 
you,  that  desirable  young  lady  will  become  the  bride  of 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  the  bride  of  no  other  man  living."  :  - 

"  You  give  one  cold  encouragement,  sister  !  But  I  am 
sure,  if  you  would  only  marry  Le  Gardeur,  you  could  easily, 
with  your  tact  and  cleverness,  induce  Amdlie  to  let  me 
share  the  Tilly  fortune.  There  are  chests  full  of  gold  in 
the  old  Manor  House  !  and,  a  crow  could  hardly  fly  in  a 
day,  over  their  broad  lands  !  " 

'*  Perfectly  useless,  brother  !  Am^lie  is  not  like  most 
girls.  She  would  refuse  the  hand  of  a  king,  for  the  sake  of 
the  man  she  loves,  and  she  loves  Pierre  Philibert  to  his 
finger  ends.  She  has  married  him  in  her  heart  a  thousand 
times.  I  hate  paragons  of  women,  and  would  scorn  to  be 
one  1  but  I  tell  you  brother,  Amdlie  is  a  paragon  of  a  girl, 
without  knowing  it !  "  .  .."   ..^:,.         :    ..     .  .^ 

"  Hum,  I  never  tried  my  hand  on  a  paragon,  I  should 
like  to  do  so,"  replied  he  with  a  smile  of  decided  confi- 
dence in  his  powers.  "  I  fancy  they  are  just  like  other 
women,  when  you  can  catch  them  with  their  armor  off." 

"  Yes,  but  women  like  Am(Slie,  never  lay  off  theif 
armor!  They  seem  born  in  it  like . Minerva.  But  your 
vanity  will  not  let  you  believe  me,  Renaud  I  So  go  try 
her,  and  tell  me  your  luck  1  She  won't  scratch  you  nor 
scold.  Amdlie  is  a  lady,  and  will  talk  to  you  like  a  Queen, 
But  she  will  give  you  a  polite  reply  to  your  proposal  that 
will  improve  your  opinions  of  our  sex." 

"  You  are  mocking  me,  Angdlique,  as  you  '-Iways  do  1 
One  never  knows  when  you  are  in  jest  or  when  in  earnest 
Even  when  you  get  angry,  it  is  often  unreal,  and  for  a  pur- 
pose I  I  want  you  to  be  serious  for  once.  The  fortune 
of  the  Tillys  and  De  Repentignys  is  the  best  in  New 
France,  and  we  can  make  it  ours  if  you  will  help  me." 

"  I  am  serious  enough,  in  wishing  you  those  chests  full  of 
gold,  and  those  broad  lands  that  a  crow  cannot  fly  over  in 
a  day.  But  I  must  forego  my  share  of  them,  and  so  must 
you  yours,  brother !  "    Angdlique  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 


PUT  MONEY  IN  THY  fVKSK. 


>9f 


ilesiring  to  stop  further  discussion  of  a  topic  she  did  not 
like  to  hear. 

••  Why  must  you  forego  your  share  of  the  de  Repentign)^ 
fortune,  Angelique?  You  could  call  it  your  own  any  day 
you  chose  by  giving  your  little  finger  to  Le  Gardeur,  you 
do  really  puzzle  me  I " 

llie  Chevalier  did  look  perplexed  at  his  inscrutable 
sister,  who  only  smiled  over  the  table  at  him,  as  she  non- 
chalantly cracked  nuts  and  sipped  her  wine  by  drops. 

"  Of  course  I  puzzle  you,  Renaud ! "  said  she  at  last, 
"I  am  a  puzzle  to  myself  sometimes.  But  you  see  there 
are  so  many  men  in  the  world,  poor  ones  are  so  plenty, 
rich  ones  so  scarce,  and  sensible  ones  hardly  to  be  found 
at  all,  that  a  woman  may  be  excused  for  selling  herself  to 
the  highest  bidder.  Love  is  a  commodity  only  spoken  of  in 
romances  or  in  the  patois  of  milkmaids,  now-a-days  !  " 

"Zounds!  Angelique,  you  would  try  the  patience  of 
all  the  saints  in  the  calendar !  I  shall  pity  the  fellow  you 
take  in !  Here  is  the  fairest  fortune  in  the  Colony,  about 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Pierre  Philibert ;  whom  Satan  con- 
found for  his  assurance  I  A  fortune  which  I  always  re- 
garded as  my  own  ! " 

"  It  shows  the  folly  and  vanity  of  your  sex  !  you  never 
spoke  a  word  to  Am^lie  de  Repentigny  in  the  way  of  woo- 
ing in  your  life  !  Girls  like  her  don't  drop  into  men's  arms 
just  for  the  asking." 

"  Pshaw  !  as  if  she  would  refuse  me  if  you  only  acted 
a  sister's  part  I  But  you  are  impenetrable  as  a  rock,  and 
the  whole  of  your  fickle  sex  could  not  match  your  vanity 
and  caprice,  Angelique."  ;  •.    -,ff:;  .f^ 

She  rose  quickly  with  a  provoked  air.  -      j  { 

"  You  are  getting  so  complimentary  to  my  poor  sex, 
Renaud,"  said  she,  "  that  I  must  really  leave  you  to 
yourself,  and  I  could  scarcely  leave  you  in  worse  com- 
pany." 

"  You  are  so  bitter  and  sarcastic  upon  one,"  replied 
he,  tartly  ;  "  my  only  desire  was  to  secure  a  good  fortune 
for  you,  and  another  for  myself.  I  don't  see,  for  my  part, 
what  women  are  made  for,  except  to  mar  everything  a  man 
wants  to  do  for  himself  and  for  them  !  " 

"  Certainly  everything  should  be  done  for  us,  brother  5 
but  I  have  no  defence  to  make  for  my  sex,  none  I  I  dare 
say  we  women  deserve  all  that  men  think  of  us,  but  then  it 


t«o 


THE  CHIENUfOK 


r 


It  \ 


is  impolite  to  tell  us  so  to  out  faces.  Now,  as  I  advised 
you,  Renaud,  I  would  counsel  you  to  study  gardening,  and 
you  may  one  day  arrive  at  as  great  distinction  as  the 
Marquis  de  Vandricre — ^you  may  cultivate  cfiou  chou  if  you 
cannot  raise  a  bride  like  Amelia  de  Kepentigny.'' 

Ang^lique  knew  her  brother's  genius  was  not  penetrat 
ing,  or  she  would  scarcely  have  ventured  this  broad 
allusion  to  the  brother  of  La  Pompadour,  who,  by  virtue 
of  his  relationship  to  the  Court  favorite,  had  recently  been 
created  Director  of  the  Royal  Gardens.  What  fancy  was 
working  in  the  brain  of  Ang^lique  when  she  alluded  to 
him  may  be  only  surmised. 

The  Chevalier  was  indignant,  however,  at  an  implied 
comparison  between  himself  and  the  plebeian  Marquis  de 
Vandriere.     He  replied  with  some  heat. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Vandriere  !  How  dare  you  mention 
him  and  me  together  ?  There's  not  an  officer's  mess  in 
the  army  that  receives  the  son  of  the  fishmonger !  Why 
do  you  mention  him,  Ang^lique?  You  are  a  perfect 
riddle  I " 

"  I  only  thought  something  might  happen,  brother,  if  I 
should  ever  go  to  Paris !  I  was  acting  a  charade  in  my 
fancy,  and  that  was  the  solution  of  it ! " 

"  What  was  ?  You  would  drive  the  whole  Sorbonne 
mad  with  your  charades  and  fancies !  But  I  must  leave 
you." 

"  Good-bye,  brother,  if  you  will  go.  Think  of  it  I — if 
you  want  to  rise  in  the  world  you  may  yet  become  a  Royal 
Gardener  like  the  Marquis  de  Vandriere  I "  Her  silvery 
laugh  rang  out  good  humoredly  as  he  descended  the  stairs 
and  passed  out  of  the  house. 

She  sat  down  in  her  fauteuil.  "  Pity  Renaud  is  such  a 
fool  1 "  said  she  ;  "  yet  I  am  not  sure  but  he  is  wiser  in 
his  folly  than  I  with  all  my  tact  and  cleverness,  which  I 
suspect  are  going  to  make  a  greater  fool  of  me  than  ever 
he  is!" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  in  a  deep  thinking  mood. 
**  It  is  growing  dark,"  murmured  she.  "  Le  Gardeur  will 
assuredly  be  here  soon,  in  spite  of  all  the  attractions  of 
Belmont.  How  to  deal  with  him  when  he  comes  is  more 
than  I  know.     He  will  renew  his  suit,  I  am  sure." 

For  a  moment  the  heart  of  Angdlique  softened  in  hei 
bosom.     "  Accept  him  I  must  not  i "  said  she ;  ^  affront 


CKOSS  QUESTtOUfMC. 


kim  I  will  not !  cease  to  love  him  is  out  of  my  power,  u 
much  as  is  my  ability  to  love  the  Intendant,  whom  I  cor 
dially  detest,  and  shall  marry  all  the  same  I "  She  pressed 
her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 
**  But  I  am  not  sure  of  it !  That  woman  remains  still  af 
Bsaumanoir !  Will  ray  scheming  to  remove  her  be  all  in 
vain  or  no?"  Ang^lique  recollected  with  a  shudder  a 
thought  that  had  leaped  in  her  bosom,  like  a  young  Satan, 
engendered  of  evil  desires.  "  I  dare  hardly  look  in  'he 
honest  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur  after  nursing  such  a  monstrous 
fancy  as  that,"  said  she;  "but  my  fate  is  fixed  afl  the 
same.  Le  Gardeur  will  vainly  try  to  undo  this  knot  in  my 
life,  but  he  must  leave  me  to  my  own  devices."  To  what 
devices  she  left  him,  was  a  thought  that  sprang  not  up  in 
her  purely  selfish  nature. 

In  her  perplexity  Ang^lique  tied  knot  upon  knot  hard 
as  pebbles  in  her  handkerchief.  Those  knots  of  her 
destiny,  as  she  regarded  them,  she  left  untied,  and  they 
remain  untied  to  this  day — a  memento  of  her  character 
and  of  those  knots  in  her  life  which  posterity  has  puzzled 
itself  over  to  no  purpose  to  explain. 


,>  n  ^v: 


U<1'    ■i.fe 


I 


I.;,.-  :'ii. 


i,  \:. 


1  ,!i  , 


:.aivi 


u  .)'? 


:i^'- 


\i\i*,:;t  ;;. 


i  ■  ■«' 


CHAPTER  XX. 


I  •^:     ii;*ia    c     CROSS  QUESTIONING.      ;;4^ 
t  ivi-'-.  .■  If,   >r-    ■  Tj*  ;^ 

Angelique,  weary  of  her  own  reflections  upon  the  un- 
certainties of  fortune,  summoned  Lizette  to  arrange  her 
toilette  afresh,  and  amuse  or  rather  distract  her  thoughts 
by  retailing  the  latest  gossip  of  the  Quartier.  That  was 
IJzette's  world — a  stirring  little  world,  too,  in  those  days, 
an  epitome  of  France  itself,  a  Paris  in  miniature,  where 
every  province  from  Beam  to  Artois  had  its  representa- 
tives ^  and  the  little  pot  of  colonial  life  was  boiling  with  the 
rivalries,  friendships,  hates,  fears,'  and  ambitions  of  the 
metropolis  of  the  kingdom,  sharpened  and  intensified  by 
the  narrowness  of  the  arena  in  which  they  met. 

Lizette  was  full  to-day  of  the  gossip  that  flew  from 
door  to  door  and  from  gallery  to  gallery  of  the  quaint  old 


S03 


THR  CHlEu*  jyOH. 


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■ ,    ^     t 

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r  f  • 

\  j   ■ 

■   ■■% 

.1 

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i- 

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■     J- 

■     I 

l'-|   ^ 

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•    1 

■'■■i 

11 

i'^ 

:  t 

houses,  at  caught  first  by  the  maids.  The  story  of  the  doinsi 
at  Belmont  was  volubly  retailed  to  the  itching  ears  of  their 
mistresses,  and  the  account  of  the  carriages  and  horsemen, 
horsewomen,  dresses,  and  corteges  of  the  fashionable  people 
Koing  out  to  honor  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert  seemed 
interminable  as  the  list  of  Homer's  heroes. 

"  And  who  may  they  all  be,  Lizettc  ?"  asked  Angelique, 
not  for  information,  but  to  hear  her  maid  talk,  for  she 
knew  well  who  had  been  invited,  who  were  going,  and  who 
had  declined  to  go  to  Belmont.  Nothing  happened  in 
Quebec  which  did  not  reach  Angelique's  ears,  and  the 
festival  at  Belmont  had  been  the  talk  of  the  city  for  many 
days, 

"  O,  they  are  Bourgeoisie  for  the  most  part,  my  lady, 
people  who  smell  of  furs,  and  fish,  and  turpentine,  and 
Lower  Town  I  You  see  the  gentlemen  any  day,  down  in 
the  Basse  Ville,  jingling  their  money  in  their  pockets,  their 
coats  dusted  witli  flour,  and  their  knees  greasy  with  oil, 
while  their  wives  and  daughters,  in  feathers  and  furbelows 
parade  through  Upper  Town,  with  all  the  assurance  of 
their  betters ! " 

Lizette  was  a  cunning  Abigail,  and  drew  her  portrait 
to  suit  the  humor  of  her  mistress,  whom  she  had  heard 
ridiculing  the  festival  oithQ  Honnetes  Gens,  3,s  she  called  it. 

"  But  you  know  who  they  were,  Lizette  ?  That  tongue 
of  yours  can,  if  it  will,  repeat  every  name,  dress  and  equip- 
ment, that  has  gone  out  to  Belmont  to-day." 

*'^Yes,  my  lady.  What  I  did  not  see  myself,  I  learn- 
ed from  Manon  Nytouche,  Madame  Racine's  maid,  who 
accompanied  her  mistress  down  to  the  house  of  Madame 
de  Grandmaison,  where  the  ladies  all  sat  in  the  balcony, 
quizzing  the  parties  as  they  rode  past  on  their  way  to  Bel- 
mont." 

Angelique  threw  herself  back  languidly  in  her  chair. 
"  Go  on  then,  I  don't  care  how  you  learned  their  names, 
but  tell  me  who  rode  past .' "     ,.',jc:  ^    ; 

"  Oh,  there  were  all  the  Brassards  of  course.  The  girls 
dressed  like  Duchesses,  quite  forgetting  the  dirty  old  maga- 
zine, in  Sous  Le  Fort,  where  their  finery  comes  from  1  And 
the  Gravels  from  the  Cul  de  Sac,  whose  large  feet  remind 
one  of  their  grandfather  the  old  Coureur  du  Bois,  who  ao' 
quired  them  tramping  in  the  woods."     il  j   riv?  -/^ ??>?!. s4 

"  That  was  well  said,  Lizette  1 "  observed  Ang^liquCi 


C/:OSS  QUEsriON/XG. 


i03 


*  I  wish  the  Demoiselles  Gravel  could  hear  you  !  who  else 
were  there  ?  '* 

"  Oh,  the  Huots  of  course,  whose  stiff  necks  and  high 
shoulders  came  from  their  grandmother  the  squaw  1  The 
Sieur  Huot  took  her  out  of  the  wigwam,  with  her  trous- 
seau on  her  back,  and  a  strap  round  her  forehead,  and 
made  a  city  dame  of  her  I  Marry  come  up !  the  Demoi* 
selles  Huot  wear  furs  in  another  fashion  now  1  Then  there 
were  the  Tourangeaus,  who  think  themselves  rich  enough 
to  marry  into  the  noblesse  I  and  Ccciie  of  coukse,  with 
her  hair  frizzed  over  her  forehead  to  hide  " — Lizette  sud 
denly  remembering  she  was  on  dangerous  ground,  stopped 
short. 

"To  hide  what?"  ejaculated  Ang^lique,  rousing  her- 
self almost  savagely,  for  she  knew  well  why  her  maid 
hesitated. 

''  A  mark  like  a  red  cross  upon  her  forehead,  my 
lady  ! "  Lizette  trembled  a  little,  for  she  was  never  sure 
what  direction  the  lightning  would  strike,  when  her  mis- 
tress was  angry. 

"  Ha,  Ha !  "  laughed  Angelique.  "  She  did  not  get  that 
cross  in  baptism,  I'll  be  bound !  The  world  has  a  long 
tongue,  and  the  tip  of  it  is  in  'your  mouth,  Lizette  !  "  con- 
tinued she,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  quietly,  to  her  maid's 
surprise.     "  Tell  me  now,  what  do  people  say  of  Cecile  ?  " 

"  They  say,  my  lady,  that  she  would  give  her  little 
finger  any  day,  for  a  smile  from  the  Chevalier  de  Repen- 
tigny ! "  Madame  Racine  says,  "  It  is  only  to  see  him 
that  she  has  gone  to  Belmont  to-day."  ^  ^' 

"  Lizette,  I  will  strike  you  if  you  pull  my  hair  so  !  "  ex- 
claimed Angelique,  pushing  her  maid  away  with  her  hand, 
which  was  as  prompt  to  deal  a  blow  as  to  lavish  gifts  upon 
her  dependants. 

"  Pardon !  my  lady,"  replied  Lizette,  shrewd  enough 
to  perceive  the  cause  of  her  mistress'  anger,  and  also  how 
to  allay  it.  "  Cecile  Tourangeau  may  look  her  eyes  out 
ftt  the  Chevalier  de  Repentigny,  but  I  know  he  has  no  love 
tor  any  woman  but  one,  who  shall  be  nameless." 

"  No,  she  shall  not  be  nameless  to  me,  Lizette !  so  tell  it 
please,"  Angelique  fixed  her  maid  with  a  look  she  durst 
not  disobey. 

"  It  was  only  the  other  night,  my  lady,  when  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Repentigny,   remained  so   late,   that  he  said  on 


»i..i 


904 


THE  CIIiEX  nOK. 


i 


» "I. 


■..A 


leaving  the  Iiouse,  '  Heaven  has  no  door  like  this !  anrf 
no  mansion  I  would  inhabit  without  Angdh'que  1 '  I  would 
go  on  my  knce.s  from  here  to  Rome,  for  a  man  who  loved 
me  as  Le  Gardeur  docs  you,  my  lady  I  "  exclaimed  Lizettc, 
with  a  burst  of  e^^thusiasm  that  charmed  her  mistress. 

Lizette  knew  she  was  saying  the  mcast  agreeable  thing 
in  the  world  to  her,  a  thrill  of  pain  mingled  with  pleasure, 
tnd  a  taste  of  sweet  and  bitter,  came  upon  the  tongue  of 
Ang^lique.  She  swallowed  the  sweet  and  threw  off  the 
bitter,  as  she  said  with  an  air  of  gayety. 

"  When  a  man  goes  on  his  knees  for  a  woman  it  is  all 
over  with  her!  is  it  not  Lizette?"  ^"  *'    '  '"^  '"    »i 

"  It  would  be  all  over  with  me,  my  lady,"  replied  the  maid 
frankly.  "  But  men  you  know  are  false  so  often.  A  won. in 
never  has  them  safe  and  sure,  until  they  are  put  to  bo«l 
by  the  sexton  with  a  coverlet  of  stone  on  top  of  the  11  '  " 

"  You  are  getting  positively  clever,  Lizette  f  "  CAcia»med 
Ang^lique,  clapping  her  hands.  "  I  will  give  you  a  new  gown 
for  that  remark  of  yours  1  What  said  the  Chevalier  de 
Repentigny  further,  did  you  hear } " 

**  That  was  all  I  heard,  my  lady,  but  it  is  plain  as  the 
spire  of  Charlebourg,  as  they  say,  that  he  does  not  care  a 
pin  for  Cecile  Tourangeau,  qnd  for  her  to  try  to  make  an 
impression  upon  him  is  just  as  vain,  Madame  Racine  says, 
as  to  put  your  fingt  r  into  the  water  and  look  for  the  hole 
it  has  made  I  " 

"  Madame  Racine's  similies  smack  of  the  water  side, 
and  she  talks  like  the  wife  of  a  stevedore  !  "  Ang^lique, 
while  indulging  herself  in  every  freedom  of  speech,  was 
merciless  in  her  criticism  of  coarseness  in  others.  "  But 
go  on  with  your  beads,  Lizette,  who  besides  all  those  ele- 
gant Bourgeois,  have  gone  to  Belmont  ?  "  '   ^ 

"  O  there  were  the  Massots  of  course  !  the  young  ladies 
in  blue  and  white,  in  imitation  of  y  ar  'ast  new  costume, 
my  lady  ?  ' 

"  That  shows  their  good  taste,"  l  •  jd  -  vng^lique,  **  and 
a  deference  to  their  betters,  not  always  found  in  Lowt,- 
Town,  where  we  usually  see  more  airs  than  graces !  Who 
besides  the  Massots  have  gone?"  r  '     ';'-'    '^  *,      \,  ,. 

**  Oh,  the  whole  tribe  of  the  Cureux  !    Trust  any  thing 
going  jn  in  ^^uebec,  where  they  will  not  thrust  their  long 
r»«c»3s ! " 
'  '^Oh  1  the  Cureux,  indeed  I "  replied  Angdlique,  laughing 


C/!OSS  QC/ESr/OX/AC. 


96S 


till  she  s  look,  "  I  always  laugh  when  I  sec  /Afir  long  nosoi 
come  into  a  parlor." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,  every  one  does  ?  even  !M»rvanH  I  they 
say  they  got  them  by  smelling  stork  fish  which  they  send 
to  Franc  by  th  .  ship  load.  Madame  (.'ureux  is  always 
boastin<:;  that  the  Pope  himself  cats  their  stock  fish  in 
Lent."  '       i      ^     ^        • 

"Well  their  noses  are  the'.r  own,  and  nobody  envies 
them  the  posse  sion !  But  all  their  stock  fish  cannot  cure 
their  ugliness  !  "  AngeMiqiie  knew  the  Cureux  were  ry- 
rich,  and  it  pleased  her  to  find  a  good  offset  for  thai  ad- 
vantage. 

"Nor  all  their  money  marry  the  demoiselles  Cureux  to 
the  noblesse!"  remarked  Lizettr^  with  a  touch  of  ivte. 
She  too  did  not  like  the  Cureux  for  some  prejudice  of  he 
servants'  hall — inscrutable  here. 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Lizette  !  Money  will  n  irry  a  i\ 
one  to  any  body!  It  will  marry  me — enough  of  it !  "  An- 
g^Hque  twitched  her  shoulder  and  -^ave  a  short,  bitter  laugh 

"  Yes,  most  people  say  so,  my  Lady,  and  I  suppose 
is  true  !     But  for  my  part,  having  i.o  money,  I  like  a  bit  .m 
love  to  season  the  family  potage  !  1  would  not  marry  Louis 
Le  Page  with  his  five  hundred  livres  in  his  box,  if  I  would 
not  take  him  barefoot  just  as  Gcd  made  him." 

"Pshaw!  you  talk  like  a  fool!''  Angt^lique  moved 
restlessly  in  her  chair,  as  if  tormented  with  a  thorn.  "  Peo- 
ple of  your  condition  are  happy  enough  with  love ;  you 
have  nothing  else  to  marry  for." 

"  No,  and  for  that  reason  Louis  and  I  will  marry,"  re- 
plied Lizette,  seriously.  "  God  made  men  wise,  they  say, 
and  we  women  teach  them  to  be  fools." 

"  You  are  clever  Lizette  and  worth;-  to  be  my  maid," 
cried  Angdlique,  admiringly,  "but  I  wart  to  hear  the  rest 
of  your  gossip  about  Belmont.  You  hav':;  only  mentioned 
the  Bourgeoisie,  but  I  know  many  people  <  f  condition  have 
gone  out  also." 

"  I  thought  my  Lady  would  rather  have  me  mentior. 
the  Bo'irgeoisie,"  replied  Lizette,  naively.  She  knew  that 
sprinkhng  a  little  common  earth  upon  the  guests,  would 
not  displease  the  humor  of  her  mistress. 

"  True,  but  I  have  heard  enough  about  f^em  and  after 
all,  the  movements  of  the  Bourgeoisie  are  of  no  more  im- 
portance than  the  flight  of  pigeons.    The  Honnetes gms  are 


w 


m 


lo6 


ri/E  ailEN  D'OR. 


Bo  Lirgcoii  ie — more's 


the  wonder !  go  on,  Lizctti^ 


not  all 

with  the  noblesse.' 

"  Yes,  my  Lad)  I  Madame  de  Grandmaison  held  up  both 
hands  for  an  hour,  astonished  at  the  equipages  rolling  on 
one  after  another  to  Belmont,  to  visit  a  mere  merchant,  a 
trader,  as  she  called  the  Bourgeois  Philibert." 

"  Madame  de  Grandmaison  forgets  the  old  rope  maker 
of  St.  Malo,  who  spun  her  own  family  line  !"  replied  An- 
gdlique,  tartly  ;  she  hated  the  Grandmaisons.  "  The  Bour- 
geois Philibert  is  himself  as  well  born  and  as  proud  too  as 
the  Lord  de  Coucy." 

"  And  his  son,  the  Colonel,  is  as  proud  as  his  father, 
and  can  look  as  cross  too  when  he  is  displeased,"  remarked 
Lizette,  veering  round  readily  to  the  shift  of  wind  in  her 
mistress'  humor. 

"  He  is  the  handsomest  gallant  in  the  city,  but  one," 
remarked  Angdiique. 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  the  facile  maid.  "  The  Chev- 
alier de  Repentigny  thinks  him  perfection,  and  he  thinks 
Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny  more  than  perfection ;  at 
least  that  was  Madame  Racine's  opinion." 

"  Madame  Racine's  tongue  would  be  all  the  better  for 
shortening,  Lizette,  and  yours  too,  if  you  quote  her  sayings 
so  much." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  the  ever  acquiescent  maid, 
"  and  every  one  thought  the  same  when  she  and  Madame 
de  Grandmaison  joined  in  a  cry  of  indignation  as  the  Gov- 
ernor rode  past,  with  that  strange  gentleman  from  Sweden, 
who  puts  flowers  in  a  book  instead  of  into  his  button  hole, 
and  pins  moths  and  butterflies  to  a  board.  They  say  he 
is  a  Huguenot  and  would  like  to  serve  Christians  in  the 
same  manner,  only  most  people  think  he  is  mad.  But  he 
is  really  very  nice  when  you  speak  to  him  !  and  the  Gov- 
ernor likes  him  immensely.  All  the  maids  of  the  quartier 
say  their  mistresses  agree  on  that." 

"  Well,  never  mind  the  strange  gentleman !  who  be- 
sides were  there  ? "  asked  Angdlique. 

"  O  loads  and  loads  of  the  most  fashionable  people ' 
such  as  the  Chavignys,  the  Lemoines,  the  Lanaudieres,  Du- 
perons  and  De  Lerys,  all  sitting  up  in  their  carriages  and 
looking  as  if  the  Colony  belonged  to  them." 
: i,  "  A  good  deal  of  it  does  !"  remarked  Ang^lique  w'th  a 
touch  of  Madame  de  Grandmaison's  irritability. 


CROSS  QUESTIONING, 


•Of 


u 


But  the  D'  Aillcbousts  and  the  Vaudrcuils's,  they  did 
not  go?" 

**  Only  tije  Chevalier  Rigaud,  my  Lady,  who,  thiy  say 
always  roasts  a  Bostonnais  when  his  soldiers  are  very  hungry  I 
but  I  don't  believe  it." 

**  Pshav/ 1  but  tell  me  have  the  Beauharnois  gone  with 
the  t  ;st  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady  1  Mademoiselle  was  dressed  like,  an 
angel  in  white,  and  such  plumes  !  even  Madame  Couillard 
said  she  looked  handsomer  than  her  brother  Claude." 

"  Oh,  Hortense !  every  one  is  bursting  with  praises  of 
Hortense ! "  exclaimed  Ange'lique  with  decided  pique, 
fanning  herself  impatiently.  "  It  is  because  she  makes  her- 
self so  friendly  ;  forward  I  call  it,  and  she  thinks  herself  so 
witty !  or,  at  least  causes  the  gentleman  to  think  so.  The  heir 
of  Belmont  would  hardly  pay  her  for  opening  her  black  eyes 
so  wide  ! " 

Angdlique  was  bitter  and  unjust.  She  was,  in  truth, 
jealous  of  the  beauty  and  grace  of  Hortense  de  Beauharnois, 
who  approached  too  near  he,r  own  absolute  kingdom,  not 
to  be  looked  upon  otherwise  than  as  a  dangerous  rival. 

"  Is  your  list  ended  ?  "  Angelique  got  very  impatient. 
"  Of  course,  all  the  Tillys,  De  Repentignys,  St.  Lues,  and 
their  tribes  from  North  to  South,  would  not  be  absent  on 
any  such  occasion  as  a  gathering  of  the  Honnetes  gens  in 
honor  of  the  Philiberts !  " 

"  No  my  Lady,  and  they  are  all  there,  as  Madame  de 
Grandmaison  remarked.  The  city  has  gone  mad  over 
Belmont,  and  '^very  body  has  gone  I  "  Lizette  began  count- 
ing on  her  fingers,  "  besides  those  I  named  there  were  the 
De  Beaujeus,  the  Contrecoeurs,  the  De  Villiers  the — " 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  !  "  burst  out  Angelique  "  or  go 
back  to  the  Bourgeoisie,  the  rabble  and  the  slops  of  Lower 
town ! " 

This  was  a  coarse  speech  for  Angelique,  but  she  liked 
sometimes  to  leap  over  the  bars  of  politeness,  and  riddle 
society  of  its  cinders,  she  said.  Her  supernal  beauty  was 
earthmade,  and  she  could  on  occasion  talk  coarsely,  talk 
argot  or  even  smoke  while  comparing  the  points  of  men 
and  horses  in  the  penetralia  of  her  boudoir,  in  the  free  and 
easy  companionship  of  friends  of  her  own  sex.  "'" 

Lizette  took  the  hint  and  gave  a  satirical  description  of  a 
rich  old  merchant  and  his  family,  the  Sieur  Keratrj',  an 


m 


|o§  THE  CHIEN  D'On 

iiotiest  Bas  Breton.  "  They  say,"  continued  Lizette  "  that 
the  Sieur  Keratty  first  learned  the  use  of  a  pocket  hand- 
kerchief after  his  arrival  in  an  Emigrant  ship,  and  forgets 
to  uSe  it  to  this  cay  !  " 

"  Why  that  s  true ! "  laughed  Angclique,  restored  to 
good  humor,  by  the  mention  of  the  old  trader  of  the  Sautt 
au  Matelot. 

"  The  Bas  Bretons  never  use  anything  but  theii  i!eevea 
and  fingers !  and  you  always  recognize  the  honest  folk  of 
Finis  Terre  by  that  unmistakable  trait  of  Breton  polish ! 
the  Sieur  Keratry  is  true  to  his  province  and  can  never 
forget  the  primitive  fashion,  I  hope  he  will  practise  it  well  at 
Belmont!  Bah!  But  I  wont  hear  any  more  Lizette,  I  dont  care 
who  has  gone!  I  know  one  who  won't  stay  !  Mark  you  ! "  con- 
tinued she.  "When  the  Chcva!ier  de  Repentigny  calls 
this  evening  show  him  up  at  once  ?  I  am  resolved  he  shall 
not  remain  at  Belmont  whoever  else  does."  She  held  up 
a  warning  finger  to  her  maid,  "  Remember  now  you  may  go 
Lizette,  I  want  to  be  alone."        ,  .».>.;  .^ft-u  v.H*^ 

"  Yes,  my  Lady !  "  Lizette  would  fain  have  continued 
her  gossip,  but  she  dared  not.  There  was  a  flash  now  and 
then  in  Angelique's  eyes  that  boded  fire  not  far  off.  Lizette 
withdrew,  somewhat  perplexed  about  her  mistress's  real 
thoughts  of  persons  and  things,  and  remarked  to  her  con- 
fidante the  housekeeper,  that  her  lady  was  "  in  a  tantrum 
over  something  or  other  and  some  body  would  surely  suffer 
before  to-morrow!"  m      • 


■»    , 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


BELMONT. 


t  ... . 


A  SHORT  drive  from  the  gate  of  St.  John,  stood  the  old 
mansion  of  Belmont,  the  country  seat  of  the  Bourgeois 
Philibert.  A  stately  park,  the  remains  of  the  primeval 
forest  of  oak,  maple,  and  pine ;  trees  of  gigantic  growth 
and  ample  shade,  surrounded  the  high  roofed,  many  gabled 
house  that  stood  on  the  heights  of  St.  Foye  overlooking 
the  broad  valley  of  the  St.  Charles.  The  bright  river 
wound  like  a  silver  »erpent  through  the  flat  meadows  .•o 


•it' 


'J    J    ^  '  ^^  p  * 


IfELAfONT, 


aog 


the  bottom  of  the  valley.  While  the  ojiposlle  slopes  of  al- 
ternate field  and  forest  stretched  away  to  the  distant  range 
of  the  Laurcntian  hills  whose  pale  blue  summits  mingled 
with  the  blue  sky  at  mid-day,  or  wrapped  in  mist  at  mom 
and  eve  were  hardly  distinguishable  from  the  clouds  be- 
hind them. 

■"  The  bright  slender  spire  of  a  village  church  peered  up 
shyly  from  the  distant  woods  on  the  mountain  side  ;  while, 
here  and  there  the  white  walls  of  a  farm  house  stood  out 
amid  green  meadows,  or  the  smoke  alone  of  a  chimney 
rose  up  from  orchards  of  apple  and  pear,  showing  where  a 
thrifty  habitant  had  cast  his  lot,  under  the  protection  of  a 
feudal  manor  house  that  was  conspicuous  upon  more  than 
one  commanding  spot  in  the  wide  landscape. 

The  day  was  charming,  fresh  and  breezy.  Summer 
showers  had  washed  clean  the  face  of  nature,  and  warm 
sunshine  of  almost  tropical  heat,  which  prevails  in  New 
France  for  a  brief  period,  stirred  all  the  life  in  animate 
and  inanimate  creation.  The  leaves  and  grass  glowed  in 
vivid  green,  and  on  every  side  flowers  of  every  hue 
breathing  out  odors  seemed  alive  with  pure  delight  of 
blooming. 

The  park  of  Belmont  sweeping  round  to  the  woods  of 
Sillery  contained  a  little  world  of  wild  flowers  and  ferns, 
hidden  away  in  its  sylvan  recesses  safe  from  the  plough- 
share, as  its  forest  trees  were  safe  from  the  woodman. 
Many  rare  and  exquisite  forms  of  floral  beauty  repaid  the 
protection  of  the  Manor  of  Belmont.  In  glades  half  lit 
by  struggling  sunbeams,  the  ferns  stood  knee  deep,  wav- 
ing their  lace  like  tracery,  beautiful  and  delicate  as  the 
bridal  veil  of  the  Queen  of  Fairyland.  Little  dells  thick 
with  shrubbery,  were  glowing  with  the  rosy  cups  of  the 
Linnaea  Boreal  is,  and  narrow  leaved  Kalmia,first  so  named 
this  day  by  the  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  in  honor  of  his 
friend  Herr  Kalm.  The  winding  and  in  some  places  steep 
hill-side  paths  were  bordered  with  trailing  orchises, 
white  and  red  and  purple,  ladies  hair  and  silvery  bells  tor 
garlands  in  fairy  dances  by  moonlight.  Trillia  whirling 
their  triple  glories  ;  flowers  born  in  the  purple,  like  chil- 
dren of  an  Emperor, — ^priceless  treasures  of  Flora  in  the 
old  world,  but  here  growing  wild,  the  free  gifts  of  boun- 
teous nature.  The  turf  of  the  park  was  thick,  soft,  and 
green  as  an  emerald.     Huge  patriarchal  trees,  giants  of 

14 


sio 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


'i?> 


If    { 


V  i 


the  olden  time  stood  round  in  solitary  dignity,  shading  the 
broad  drives, or  were  grouped  in  clusters  deep  and  soTemo 
as  fragments  of  the  primeval  forest  of  which  they  had 
once  formed  a  part. 

The  gardens  and  lawns  of  Belmont  were  stirring  witt 
gay  company  to-day  in  honor  of  the  F^te  of  Pierre  Phili 
bert,  upon  his  return  home  from  the  campaign  in  Acadia 
Troops  of  ladies  in  costumes  and  toilettes  of  the  latest 
Parisian  fashion  gladdened  the  eye  with  pictures  of  grace 
and  beauty,  which  Paris  itself  could  not  have  surpassed. 
Gentlemen  in  full  dress,  in  an  age  when  dress  was  an  es- 
sential part  of  a  gentleman's  distinction,  accompanied  the 
ladies,  with  the  gallantry,  vivacity  and  politeness  belong- 
ing to  France,  and  to  France  alone 

Communication  with  the  mother  country  was  pre- 
carious and  uncertain  by  reason  of  the  war,  and  the  block- 
ade of  the  Gulf  by  the  English  cruisers.  Hence,  the  good 
fortune  and  daring  of  the  gallant  Captain  Marini^re  in 
running  his  frigate,  the  J^/cur  de  Lys,  through  the  fleet  of 
the  enemy,  enabling  him  among  other  things  to  replenish 
the  wardrobes  of  the  ladies  of  Quebec,  with  latest  Parisian 
fashions,  made  him  immensely  popular  on  this  gala  day. 
The  kindness  and  affability  of  the  ladies  extended  without 
diminution  of  graciousness  to  the  little  midshipmen  even 
whom  the  Captain  conditioned  to  take  with  him  wherever 
he  and  his  officers  were  invited.  Captain  Marinieie  was 
happy  to  see  the  lads  enjoy  a  few  cakes  on  shore  after  the 
hard  biscuit  they  had  so  long  nibbled  on  shipboard.  As 
for  himself  there  was  no  end  to  the  gracious  smiles  and 
thanks  he  received  from  the  fair  ladies  assembled  at  Bel- 
mont. 

At  the  great  door  of  the  Manor  House  welcoming  his 
guests  as  they  arrived,  stood  the  Bourgeois  Philibert, 
dressed  as  a  gentleman  of  the  period  in  attire  rich  but  not 
ostentatious.  His  suit  of  dark  velvet  harmonized  well 
with  his  noble  manner  and  bearing.  But  no  one  for  amo' 
ment  could  overlook  the  man  in  contemplating  his  dress. 
The  keen  discriminating  eye  of  woman  overlooking  neither 
dress  nor  man,  found  both  worthy  of  warmest  commenda- 
tion, and  many  remarks  passed  between  the  ladies  on  that 
day,  that  a  handsomer  man  and  more  ripe  and  perfect 
gentleman  than  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  had  never  been 
seen  in  New  France. 


BELAfONT. 


StI 


His  grizzled  hair  grew  thickly  all  over  his  iicad,  the  sign 
of  a  tenacious  constitution.  It  was  powdered  and  tied  be- 
hind with  a  broad  ribbon,  for  he  hated  peruques.  His 
strong  shapely  figure  was  handsomely  conspicuous  as  he 
stood  chapeau  in  hand,  greeting  his  guests  as  they  approach- 
ed. His  eyes  beamed  with  pleasure  and  hospitality,  and  h.s 
usually  grave,  thoughtful  lips,  were  wreathed  in  smiles,  the 
sweeter  because  not  habitually  seen  upon  them.  i 

The  Bourgeois  had  this  in  common  with  all  complete 
and  earnest  characters,  that  the  people  believed  in  him, 
because  they  saw  that  he  believed  in  himself.  His  friends 
loved  and  trusted  him  to  the  uttermost,  his  enemies  hated 
and  feared  him  in  equal  measure ;  but  no  one  great  or 
small,  could  ignore  him  and  not  feel  his  presence  as  a 
solid  piece  of  manhood. 

It  is  not  intellect,  nor  activity,  nor  wealth  that  obtains 
most  power  over  men  ;  but  force  of  character,  self-control, 
a  quiet  compressed  will,  and  patient  resolve ;  these  qual- 
ities make  one  man  the  natural  ruler  over  others  by  a 
title  they  never  dispute.  '  *    ',:  . 

The  party  of  the  Honnetes  gens^  the  "  honest  folks  "  as 
they  were  derisively  called  by  their  opponents,  regarded 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert  as  their  natural  leader.  His  force 
of  character  made  men  willingly  stand  in  his  shadow.  His 
clear  intellect,  never  at  fault,  had  extended  his  power  and 
influence  by  means  of  his  vast  niercantile  operations  over 
half  the  continent.  His  position  as  the  foremost  merchant 
of  New  France  brought  him  in  the  front  of  the  people's 
battle  with  the  Grand  Company  and  in  opposition  to  the 
financial  policy  of  the  Intendant  and  the  mercantile  as- 
sumption of  the  Friponne 

But  the  personal  hostility  between  the  Intendant  and 
the  Bourgeois  had  its  root  and  origin  in  France,  before 
either  of  them  crossed  the  ocean  to  the  hither  shore  of  the 
Atlantic.  The  Bourgeois  had  been  made  very  sensible  of 
a  (act  vitally  affecting  him,  that  the  decrees  of  the  Intend- 
ant ostensibly  for  the  regulation  of  trade  in  New  France 
had  been  sharply  pointed  against  himself.  "  They  draw 
blood !  " — Bigot  had  boasted  to  his  familiars  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  together  with  intense  satisfaction  one  day,  when 
he  learned  that  Philibert's  large  trading  post  in  Mackinaw, 
had  been  closed  in  consequence  of  the  Indians  having  been 
comnianded  by  royal  authority,  exercised  by  the  Intend- 


fix     ' 


w 


313 


r//£  C/f/EAT  a  OR. 


ft 


4\ 


?  t  « 

jtl* 

1 

ant,  to  trade  only  at  the  Comptoirs  o!  the  Grand  Coini> 
any.  "  Tliey  draw  blood  !  "  repeated  he,  "  and  will  dra\f 
the  life  yet  out  of  the  Golden  Dog."  It  was  plain,  the 
ancient  grudge  of  the  courtly  parasite  had  not  lost  a  tooth 
during  all  those  years. 

The  Bourgeois  was  not  a  man  to  talk  of  his  prirate 
griefs,  or  seek  sympathy,  or  even  ask  counsel  or  help. 
lie  knew  the  world  was  engrossed  with  its  own  cares. 
The  world  cared  not  to  look  under  the  surface  of  ihingi 
for  sake  of  others,  but  only  for  its  own  sake,  its  o  vn  inter- 
ests, its  own  pleasures.  ,  ,,  ,  i,  .;  ,.,,::  ;  .i^i 
To-day,  however,  cares,  griefs,  and  resentments,  were  cast 
aside,  and  the  Bourgeois  was  all  joy  at  the  return  of  his 
only  son,  and  proud  of  Pierre's  achievements,  and  still 
more  of  the  honors  spontaneously  paid  him.  He  stood  at 
the  door,  welcoming  arrival  after  arrival,  the  happiest  man 
of  all  the  joyous  company  who  honored  Belmont  that 
day. 

A  carriage,  with  outriders,  brought  the  Count  de  la 
Galissonibre  and  his  friend  Herr  Kalm,  and  Dr.  Gauthier, 
tlie  last  a  rich  old  bachelor,  handsome  and  generous,  the 
physician  and  savant,  par  excellence^  of  Quebec.  After  a 
most  cordial  reception  by  the  Bourgeois,  the  Governor 
walked  among  the  guests,  who  had  crowded  up  to  greet 
him,  with  the  respect  due  to  the  King's  representative,  as 
well  as  to  show  their  personal  regard  ;  for  the  Count's 
popularity  was  unbounded  in  the  colony  except  among  the 
partizans  of  the  Grand  Company. 

Herr  Kalm  was  presently  enticed  away  by  a  bevy  of 
young  ladies,  Hortense  Beauharnois  leading  them,  to  get 
the  learned  Professor's  opinion  on  some  rare  specimens  of 
botany  growing  in  the  park.  Nothing  loath — for  he  was 
good  natured  as  he  was  clever,  and  a  great  enthusiast 
withal  in  the  study  of  plants — he  allowed  the  merry,  talk- 
ative girls  to  lead  him  where  they  would.  He  delighted 
them  in  turn  by  his  agreeable,  instructive  conversation^ 
which  was  rendered  still  more  piquant  by  the  odd  medley 
of  French,  Latin  and  Swedish  in  which  it  was  expressed. 

The  Sieur  Gauthier  was  greeted  on  every  side  with 
marks  of  esteem  and  even  affection.  With  the  ladies  he 
was  an  especial  favorite.  His  sympathetic  manner  and 
ready  wit  won  their  admiration  and  confidence.  As  the 
first  physician  of  the  city,  Dr.  Gauthier  was  to  their  bodies 


BELMOST, 


««3 


what  their  confessor  was  to  their  souls,  indispensable  to 
their  health  and  comfort.  The  good  doctor  had  his 
specialties  also,  as  every  man  of  genius  fails  not  to  have. 
He  was  a  good  astronomer,  and  it  was  known  that  the 
science  of  astrology  was  not  out  of  the  category  of  his 
studies.     Augur  J  rmdicus^  magus^  omnia  novitf 

The  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  had  not  quite 
convinced  itself,  as  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  has 
done,  that  what  is  what,  and  that  only.  Upon  the 
good  doctor's  house,  overlooking  the  Cote  aux  Chiens, 
was  a  small  observatory.  It's  long,  projecting  telescope 
was  to  the  habitans  suggestive  of  magical  powers.  They 
would  not  be  persuaded  but  that  the  good  doctor  cured 
diseases  by  the  **  secret,"  rather  than  by  legitimate  medical 
science,  and  was  more  beholden  to  the  stars  for  his  suc- 
cess in  curing  than  to  the  art  of  medicine.  But  that  be- 
lief secured  his  popularity  all  the  more.  By  temperament 
he  belonged  to  the  merry  school  of  the  medecins  iani 
mieuXf  whom  La  Fontaine  immortalizes  in  his  inimitable 
fable.  The  good  doctor  laughed  at  the  world,  and  was 
not  vexed  if  the  world  laughed  at  him.  In  one  tender 
spot  only  he  was  very  sensitive,  however,  and  the  quick- 
witted ladies  never  ceased  probing  it  with  pins  and 
needles — his  want  of  a  wife,  and,  still  more  perhaps,  of  an. 
heir  to  hand  his  name  and  fortune  down  to  posterity. 

The  ladies  knew  he  was  a  useful  man,  and  they  zeal- 
ously strove  to  double  his  usefulness,  but  so  far  the  meas- 
ures taken  by  them  had  been  inadequate  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  object.  To-day,  the  doctor's  feathers  had 
been  ruffled  by  a  controversy  with  the  learned  Swede,  who 
maintained  with  irritating  obstinacy  the  fashionable  theory 
of  stay-at-home  philosophers  in  the  old  world  that  the 
European  race  degenerates  on  the  soil  of  the  new. 

The  doctor,  meeting  Herr  Kalm  on  his  walk  in  the 
garden  of  Belmont,  again  rushed  into  the  defence  of  the 
children  of  the  soil,  and  roundly  swore  by  the  Three 
Graces^  by  Lenis  Lucina,  and  all  the  powers  of  dittany, 
(he  was  always  classical  when  excited,)  that  the  progeny 
of  New  France  was  an  improvement  on  the  old  stock. 
Like  the  wines  of  Bordeaux,  it  acquired  fresh  spirit, 
strength  and  bouquet  by  its  transfer  across  the  Atlantic. 

Forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  who  listened 
with  open  eyes  and  ears  to  his  vow,  the  doctor  declared  he 


•14 


THB  CIIIBN  D'OR. 


^ti 


^  h 


L  « 


W     "     life' 

1*    (.    iP-  j^ 


Ik  i$ 

1 


ii  I 


would  marry,  and  demonstrate,  to  the  utter  refutation  ol 
such  errors,  that  the  noble  race  of  Gauls  and  Franks  does 
not  deteriorate  in  the  New  World,  but  its  progeny 
strengthens  as  it  lengthens,  and  gathers  as  it  grows  ,  and 
that  another  lustrum  should  not  pass  over  his  head  before 
he  would  convince  Herr  Kalm  himself  that  European 
philosophy  was  futile  in  face  of  Canadian  practice.    -^»»''*:''* 

To  be  sure,  few  of  the  ladies  knew  precisely  what  a 
lustrum  was,  but  they  guessed  the  good  doctor  intended 
to  take  a  wife  very  soon,  and  the  nev/s  flew  in  as  many 
shapes — each  a  complete  story  of  itself — as  there  were 
pretty  mouths  to  tell  it  all  over  the  grounds. 

"  I  will  demonstrate,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  seconding 
his  words  by  solid  thumps  of  his  cane  upon  the  ground, 
"  I  will  demonstrate  that  in  New  France  a  man  of  sixty 
is  as  hearty  and  as  marriageable  as  a  European  of  thirty.  I 
will  do  it.     I  will  marry!" 

A  laugh  from  the  gentlemen,  and  many  conscious 
blushes  from  the  ladies,  greeted  the  doctor's  vow ;  but 
further  discussion  of  the  nice  point  was  postponed  by  an 
influx  of  fresh  arrivals  who  poured  into  the  park. 

The  Chevalier  La  Corne,  with  his  pretty  daughter, 
Agathe  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Am^lie 
de  Repentigny,  with  the  brothers  De  Villiers.  The  broth- 
ers had  overtaken  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  upon  the  road, 
but  the  custom  of  the  highway  in  New  France  forbade 
anyone  passing  another  without  politely  asking  permission 
to  do  so. 

"  Yes,  Coulon."  replied  the  Chevalier ;  "  ride  on."  He 
winked  pleasantly  at  his  daughter  as  he  said  this.  "  There 
is,  I  suppose,  nothing  left  for  an  old  fellow  who  dates 
from  the  sixteen  hundreds  but  to  take  the  side  of  the 
road  and  let  you  pass.  I  should  have  liked,  however,  to 
stir  up  the  fire  in  my  gallant  little  Norman  ponies  against 
your  big  New  England  horses.  Where  did  you  get  them  ? 
Can  they  ran  ?" 

"We  got  them  in  the  sack  of  Saratoga,"  replied  Cou- 
lon, "  and  they  ran  well  that  day,  but  we  overtook  them. 
Would  Madamoiselle  La  Corne  care  if  we  try  them  now  ?  '* 

Scarcely  a  girl  in  Quebec  would  have  declined  the  ex- 
citement of  a  race  on  the  high-road  of  St.  Foye,  and 
Agathe  would  fain  have  driven  herself  in  the  race,  but, 
being  in  full  dress  to-day,  she  thought  of  her  wardrobe  and 


BELMONf, 


^«5 


the  company.  She  checked  the  ardor  of  her  father, 
and  entered  the  park  demurely,  rs  one  of  the  gravest  o* 
the  guests. 

"  Happy  youths  I  Noble  lads  !  Agathe,"  exclaimed  the 
Chevalier,  admiringly,  ?s  the  brothers  rode  rapidly  past 
them.     "  New  France  will  be  proud  of  them  some  day  I " 

The  rest  of  the  company  now  began  to  arrive  in  quick 
succession.  The  lawn  was  crowded  with  guests.  "Ten 
thousand  thanks  for  coming!  "  exclaimed  Pierre  Philibert, 
as  he  assisted  Amelie  de  Repentigny  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
to  alight  from  their  carriage. 

"  We  could  not  choose  but  come  to  day,  Pierre,"  replied 
Amelie,  feeling  without  displeasure  the  momentary  linger- 
ing of  his  hand  as  it  touched  hers.  "  Nothing  short  of  an 
earthquake  would  have  kept  aunt  at  home,"  added  she, 
darting  a  merry  glance  of  sympathy  with  her  aunt's  sup- 
posed feelings. 

"  And  you,  Amelie  ?  "  Pierre  looked  into  those  dark 
eyes  which  shyly  turned  aside  from  his  gaze. 

"  I  was  an  obedient  niece,  and  accompanied  lier.  It  is 
so  easy  to  persuade  people  to  go  where  they  wish  to  go." 
She  withdrew  her  hand  gently,  and  took  his  arm  as  he 
conducted  the  ladies  into  the  house.  She  felt  a  flush  on 
her  cheek,  but  it  did  not  prevent  her  saying  in  her  frank 
kindly  way,  "  I  was  glad  to  come  to  day,  Pierre,  to  witness 
this  gathering  of  the  best  and  noblest  in  the  land  to  honor 
your  f^te.  Aunt  de  Tilly  has  always  predicted  greatness 
for  you." 

'*  And  you,  Amelie,  doubted,  knowing  me  a  shade  better 
than  your  aunt  ? "  ^ 

"  No,  I  believed  her !  so  true  a  prophet  as  aunt  surely 
deserved  one  firm  believer ! '' 

Pierre  felt  the  electric  thrill  run  through  him  which  a 
man  feels  at  the  moment  he  discovers  a  woman  believes  in 
him.  "Your  presence  here  to-day,  Amelie,  you  cannot 
think  how  sweet  it  is,"  said  he.  '  ' 

Her  hand  trembled  upon  his  arm.  She  thought  noth- 
ing could  be  sweeter  than  such  words  from  Pierre  Phil- 
ibert. With  a  charming  indirectness,  however,  which  did 
not  escape  him,  she  replied,  "  Le  Gardeur  is  very  proud 
of  you  to  day,  Pierre." 

He  laid  his  fingers  upon  her  hand.  It  was  a  delicate 
little  hand,  but  with  the  strength  of  an  angel's  it  had 


9l6 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


yi    %  'v 


11  ' 


fISi' 


moulded  liis  destiny  and  led  him  to  the  honorable  position 
he  had  attained.  He  was  profoundly  conscious  at  this 
moment  of  what  he  owed  to  this  girl's  silent  influence. 
He  contented  himself,  however,  with  saying  "  I  will  so 
strive  that  one  day,  Amelie  de  Repcntigny  shall  not  shame 
to  say,  she  too,  is  proud  of  me." 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  A  tremor  agitated 
her  low  sweet  voice.  "  I  am  proud  of  you  now,  Pierre, 
more  proud  than  words  can  tell  to  see  you  so  honored, 
and  proudest  to  think  you  deserve  it  all." 

It  touched  him  almost  to  tears.  "Thanks,  Amelie, 
when  you  are  proud  of  me  I  shall  begin  to  feel  pride  of 
myself.  Your  opinion  is  the  one  thing  in  life  I  have  most 
cared  for,  your  approbation  is  my  best  reward." 

Her  eyes  were  eloquent  with  unspoken  words,  but  she 
thought,  "  If  that  was  all !  "  Pierre  Philibert  had  long 
received  the  silent  reward  of  her  good  opiiilon  and  appro- 
bation. .  y    .  .^rU.    , 

The  Bourgeois  at  this  moment  came  up  to  salute 
Amelie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

"  The  Bourgeois  Philibert  has  the  most  perfect  man- 
ner of  any  gentleman  in  New  France,"  was  the  remark  of 
the  Lady  de  Tilly  to  Amelie,  as  he  left  them  again,  to 
receive  other  guests.  "  They  say  he  can  be  rough  and 
imperious  sometimes  to  those  he  dislikes,  but  to  his  friends 
and  strangers,  and  especially  to  ladies,  no  breath  of  spring 
can  be  more  gentle  and  balmy."  Amelie  assented  with  a 
mental  reservation  in  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  in 
the  dimple  that  flashed  upon  her  cheek,  as  she  suppressed 
the  utterance  of  a  pleasant  fancy  in  reply  to  her  aunt. 

Pierre  conducted  the  ladies  to  the  great  drawing-room 
which  was  already  filled  with  company  who  overwhelmed 
Amelie  and  her  aunt  with  the  vivacity  of  their  greeting. 

The  conversation  was  light,  but  it  sparkled  with  gayety. 
There  was  a  ready  interchange  of  the  current  coin  of 
society. 

The  philosophers  who  essayed  the  extraction  of  sun- 
beams out  of  cucumbers,  would  have  found  their  experi- 
ment a  success,  in  the  ease  with  which  the  gay  society  of 
New  France  extracted  social  sunbeams  from  topics  out  of 
which  graver  people  would  have  drawn  only  the  essence  of 
dulness  and  stupidity. 

This  cheerful  temperament  of  the  old  Gallic  colonists, 


BKLMOS 


«n 


has  descended  unimpaired  to  thi.  |)ostcrit  .  The  ri»lisli 
conquest  which  changed  so  many  things,  couli  no  M  th« 
native  gayety  of  the  French  Canadians,  and  the  gi  e  Eng- 
lish character  is  all  the  better  for  the  dash  f  K  nch 
macity  and  grace  which  leavens  the  new  nationalit)  that 
M  growing  up  in  Canada  ;  neither  purely  French  nor 
£nglish  but  a  happy  mixture  of  the  best  elem»;nts  of  b'Uh. 

In  a  fine  shady  grove,  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
house,  a  row  of  tables  was  Jret  for  the  entertainment  of 
several  hundreds  of  the  hardy  dependents  of  the  Bourgeots, 
tor  while  feasting  the  rich  the  Bourgeois  would  not  forget 
his  poorer  friends,  and  perhaps  his  most  exquisite  satisfac- 
tion was  in  the  unrestrained  enjoyment  of  his  hospitality 
by  the  crowd  of  happy  hungry  fellows  and  their  families, 
who  under  the  direction  of  his  chief  Factor,  filled  the 
tables  from  end  to  end,  and  made  the  park. resound  with 
songs  and  merriment.  Fellows  of  infinite  gayety,  with 
appetites  of  Gargantuas,  and  a  capacity  for  good  liquors, 
that  reminded  one  of  the  tubs  of  the  Danai'des.  The 
tables  groaned  beneath  mountains  of  good  things,  and  in 
the  centre  of  each,  like  Mount  Blanc  rising  from  the  lower 
Alps,  stood  a  magnificent  Easter  pie,  the  confection  of 
which  was  a  masterpiece  of  the  skill  of  Maitre  Guillot 
Gobet,  the  head  cook  of  the  Bourgeois,  who  was  rather 
putout,  however,  when  Dame  Rochelle  decided  to  bestow 
all  the  Easter  pies  upon  the  hungry  voyageurs,  woodmen, 
and  workmen,  and  banished  them  from  the  menu  of  the 
more  patrician  tables  set  for  the  guests  of  the  mansion. 

"  Yet  after  all,"  exclaimed  Master  Guillot,  as  he  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  kitchen  door  to  listen  to  the  song  the 
gay  fellows  were  singing  with  all  their  lungs,  in  honor  of 
his  Easter  pie.  "  After  all ;  the  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies 
would  not  have  paid  my  noble  pies  such  honor  as  that  \ 
and  what  is  more  the  pies  would  not  have  been  eaten  up 
to  the  last  crumb  I "  Master  Guillot's  face  beamed  like  a 
harvest  moon,  as  he  chimed  in  with  the  well  known  ditlf 
in  praise  Df  the  great  pie  of  Rouen. 


"  C'est  dans  la  ville  de  Rouen, 
lis  ont  fait  un  pat^  si  grand, 
lis  ont  fait  un  pat^  si  grand, 
Qtt'ils  onttrouvd  un  homme  dedans  I" 


V'-riri" 


fli8 


TliK  CJilE.W  lyoK 


I     ' 

ft 


Ir '  i 


iM 


Master  GuiUot  would  f;iin  li.ivc  been  ne:\rer  to  share  in 
the  shoutinpj  and  clappinj;  of  hands  which  followed  th« 
saying  of  grace  by  the  good  Ciirc^  of  St.  I'oye,  and  to  sec 
how  vigorously  knives  were  handletl,  and  how  chins 
wagged  in  the  delightful  task  of  levelling  down  mountains 
of  meat,  while  Gascon  wine  and  Norman  cider  flowed  from 
ever  replenished  flagons. 

The  Bourgeois  and  his  son,  with  many  of  his  chief 
guests,  honored  for  a  time  the  merry  feast  out  of  doors, 
and  were  almost  inundated  by  the  flowing  cups  drank  to 
the  health  and  happiness  of  the  Bourgeois  and  of  Pierre 
Philibert. 

Master  Guillot  Gobet  returned  to  his  kitchen  where  he 
stirred  up  his  cooks  and  scullions  on  all  sides  to  make  up 
for  the  loss  of  his  Easter  pies  on  the  grand  t.ibles  in  the 
Hall.  He  capered  among  them  like  a  marionette,  direct- 
ing here,  scolding  there,  laughing,  joking,  or  with  uplifted 
hands  and  stamping  feet  despairing  of  his  underlings 
cooking  a  dinner  fit  for  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

Master  Guillot  was  a  little,  fat,  red-nosed  fellow,  with 
twinkling  black  eyes,  and  a  mouth  irascible  as  that  of  a 
cake-baker  of  Lerna.  His  heart  was  of  the  right  paste, 
however,  and  full  as  a  butter-boat  of  the  sweet  sauce  of 
good-nature,  which  he  was  ready  to  pour  over  the  heads  of 
all  his  fellows  who  quietly  submitted  to  his  dictation.  But 
woe  to  man  or  maid-servant  who  delayed  or  disputed  his 
royal  orders !  An  Indian  typhoon  instantly  blew.  At 
such  a  time,  even  Dame  Rochelle  would  gather  her  petti- 
coats round  her,  and  hurry  out  of  the  storm,  which  always 
subsided  quickly  in  proportion  to  the  violence  of  its  rage. 

Master  Guillot  knew  what  he  was  about,  however. 
"  He  did  not  use,"  he  said,  "to  wipe  his  nose  with  a  her- 
ring I  and  on  that  day  he  was  going  to  cook  a  dinner  fit 
for  the  Pope,  after  Lent,  or  even  for  the  Reverend  Fathei 
De  Berey  himself,  who  was  the  truest  gourmet  and  the  best 
trencherman  in  New  France." 

Master  Guillot  honored  his  master,  but  in  his  secret 
soul  he  did  not  think  his  taste  quite  worthy  of  his  cook  1 
But  he  worshipped  Father  De  Berey,  and  gloried  in  the 
infallible  judgment  and  correct  taste  of  cookery  possessed 
by  the  jolly  Recollet.  The  single  approbation  of  Father 
De  Berey  was  worth  more  than  the  praise  of  a  world  full 
of  ordinary  eating  mortals,  who  smacked  their  lips  and 


>  ft,,  \ 


BELMONT. 


ai<) 


said  things  were  good,  but  who  knew  no  more  th.m  one  oC 
the  Cent  Suisses  why  things  were  goo<l,  or  could  ap[)rcciate 
the  talents  of  an  artiste  of  the  cordon  Hen. 

Master  Guillot's  P'aster  Pie  had  been  a  splendid  suc- 
cess. "  It  was  worthy,"  he  said,  *'  to  !)(•  placed  as  a  crown 
on  top  of  the  new  Catliedral  of  St.  M  uie,  and  reteive  the 
consecration  of  the  Bishop." 

Lest  the  composition  of  it  should  be  for«;ottcn,  Master 
Guillot  had,  with  the  solenuiity  of  a  deacon  intoning  the 
Litany,  ravished  the  ear  of  Jules  Painchaud,  his  future  son- 
in-law,  as  he  taught  him  the  secrets  of  its  Cf^nfeclion. 

With  his  white  cap  set  rakishly  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
and  arms  akimbo,  Master  Guillot  gave  Jules  the  famous 
recipe : — 

"  Inside  of  circular  walls  of  pastry,  an  inch  thick,  and 
so  rich  as  easily  to  be  pulled  down,  and  roomy  enough 
within  for  the  Court  of  King  Pepin,  lay  first  a  thick  stratum 
of  mince-meat,  of  two  savory  hams  of  Westphalia,  and  if 
you  cannot  get  them,  of  two  hams  of  our  /labitansy 

"Of  our  habitansV^  ejarp.laled  Jules,  with  an  air  of 
consternation.  t 

"  Precisely  I  don't  interrupt  me ! "  Master  Guillot 
grew  red  about  the  gills  in  an  instant.  Jules  was  silenced. 
"  I  have  said  it !  "  cried  he  ;"  two  hams  of  our  habitans  /" 
what  have  you  to  say  against  it,  Stock  Fish,  eh  ? " 

"  Oh  nothing,  sir,"  replied  Jules,  with  humility,  "only  I 
thought — "  Poor  Jules  would  have  consented  to  eat  his 
thought,  rather  than  fall  out  with  the  father  of  his  Suzette. 

"  You  thought ! "  Master  Guillot's  face  was  a  study 
for  Hogarth,  who  alone  could  have  jDainted  the  alto  tone 
of  voice  as  it  proceeded  from  his  round  O  of  a  mouth. 
"  Suzette  shall  remain  upon  my  hands  an  old  maid  for  the 
term  of  her  natural  life,  if  you  dispute  the  confection  of 
Easter  Pie  1  ' 

"  Now  listen,  Jules,"  continued  he,  at  once  modified  by 
the  contrite  submissive  air  of  his  future  son-in-law.  "  Upon 
the  foundation  of  the  mince-meat  of  two  hams  of  West- 
phalia, or,  if  you  cannot  get  them,  of  two  hams  of  our 
habitans ;  place  scientifically  the  nicely  cut  pieces  of  a  fat 
turkey,  leaving  his  head  to  stick  out  of  the  upper  crust,  in 
evidence  that  Master  Dindon  lies  buried  there  !  Add  two 
I'at  capons,  two  plump  partridges,  two  pigeons,  and  the  back 
and  thi)j;hs  of  a  brace  of  juicy  hares.     Fill  up  the  whole 


I,'  ?;  S.  ;  " 


''^1 

*)^; 


320 


77/^.  CHI  EN  DOR. 


with  be  iten  eg^^s  and  the  rich  contents  will  resemble,  as*  a 
poet  might  say,  *  fossils  of  the  rock  in  golden  yolks  em- 
bedded and  enjellied  ! '  Season  as  you  would  a  Saint  I 
Cover  with  a  slab  of  pastry.  Bake  it  as  you  would  cook 
an  angel,  and  not  singe  a  feather.  Then  let  it  cool,  and 
eat  it  1  And  then,  Jules,  as  the  Reverend  Father  De  Ber- 
4y  always  says  after  grace  over  an  Easter  Pie,  *  Dominui 
Vobiscumr'' 


,.    : ,  'A. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


m 


ill  I  fe 


K  ;i 


%M  -  n 


■     <r  .  SIC     ITUR     AD     ASTRA.  ^       :     ' 

The  old  hall  of  Belmont  had  been  decorated  for  many 
A  feast  since  the  times  of  its  founder,  the  Intendant  Talon  ; 
but  it  had  never  contained  a  nobler  company  of  fair  women 
and  brave  men  the  pick  and  choice  of  their  race  than 
to-day  met  round  the  hospitable  and  splendid  table  of  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert,  in  honor  of  the  fete  of  his  gallant  son. 

Dinner  was  duly  and  decorously  despatched.  The 
social  fashions  of  New  France  was  not  for  the  ladies  to 
withdraw  when  the  wine  followed  the  feast,  but  to  remain 
seated  with  the  gentlemen,  purifying  the  conversation,  and 
by  their  presence  restraining  the  coarseness,  which  was  the 
almost  universal  vice  of  the  age. 

A  troop  of  nimble  servitors  carried  off  the  carved 
dishes  and  fragments  of  the  splendid  patisseries  of  Master 
Guillot,  in  such  a  state  of  demolition  as  satisfied  the  crit- 
ical eye  of  the  chief  cook  that  the  efforts  of  his  genius  had 
been  very  successful.  He  inspected  the  dishes  through 
his  spectacles.  He  knew  by  what  was  left  the  ability  of 
the  guests  to  discriminate  what  they  had  eaten j  and  do 
justice  to  his  skill !  He  considered  himself  a  sort  of  per- 
vading divinity,  whose  culinary  ideas  passing  with  his 
cookery  into  the  bodies  of  the  guests,  enabled  them,  on  re- 
tiring from  the  feast,  to  carry  away  as  part  of  themselves 
some  of  the  fine  essence  of  Master  Gobet  himself. 

At  the  head  of  his  table,  peeling  oranges  and  slicing 
pineapples  for  the  ladies  in  his  vicinity  sat  the  Bourgeois 
himself,   laughing,  jesting  and  telling  anecdotes  with  a 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


991 


geniality  that  was  contagious.  "  The  gods  are  merry  some* 
times,  says  Homer,  and  their  laughter  shakes  Olympus  I  ** 
was  the  classical  remark  of  Father  De  Berey,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table.  Jupiter  did  not  laugh  with  less  loss  ol 
dignity  than  the  Bourgeois. 

The  sun  was  setting  in  a  sea  of  splendor,  visible  through 
an  oriel  window  in  the  great  hall.  His  slanting  golden 
rays  caught  the  crisp-grizzled  locks  of  the  master  of  the 
feast,  and  preternaturally  illumined  his  noble  face,  bring- 
ing out  every  feature  and  line  of  it  with  marvellous  effects, 
as  if  to  make  a  picture  which  men  could  remember  in  after 
years ;  and  few  of  the  guests  did  not  remember  to  the  end 
of  their  lives  the  majestic  and  happy  countenance  of  the 
Bourgeois  on  this  memorable  day.  ,  r/-  " 

At  his  right  hand  sat  Amelie  de  Repentigny  and  the 
Count  De  La  Gallisoniere.  The  Governor,  charmed  with 
the  beauty  and  agreeableness  of  the  young  Chatelaine,  had 
led  her  into  dinner,  and  devoted  himself  to  her  and  the 
Lady  De  Tilly  with  the  perfection  of  gallantry  of  a  gentle- 
man of  the  politest  court  in  Europe.  On  his  left  sat 
the  radiant  dark-eyed  Hortense  de  Beauharnois.  With 
a  gay  assumption  of  independence,  Hortense  had 
taken  the  arm  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  and  declared  she 
would  eat  no  dinner  unless  he  would  be  her  cavalier,  and 
sit  beside  her  1  The  gallant  old  soldier  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion. "  He  laughingly  consented  to  be  her  captive,"  he 
said,  "  for  he  had  no  power  and  no  desire  but  to  obey." 
Hortense  was  proud  of  her  conquest.  She  seated  herself 
by  his  side  with  an  air  of  triumph  and  mock  gravity,  tap- 
ping him  with  her  fan  whenever  she  detected  his  eye  rov- 
ing round  the  table,  compassionating,  she  affirmed,  her 
rivals,  who  had  failed  where  she  had  won  in  securing  the 
youngest,  the  handsomest  and  most  gallant  of  all  the  gen- 
tlemen at  Belmont ! 

"  Not. so  fast,  Hortense!  "  exclaimed  the  gay  Cheval- 
ier ;  "  you  have  captured  me  by  mistake  !  The  tall  Swede. 
He  is  your  man  I  The  other  ladies  all  know  that,  and  are 
anxious  to  get  me  out  of  your  toils,  so  that  you  may  be 
fr2e  to  ensnare  the  Philosopher  ! "  ■  .-rfrv-fi 

"  But  you  don't  wish  to  get  away  from  me  1  I  am  your 
garland,  Chevalier,  and  you  shall  wear  me  to-day.  As  for 
the  tall  Swede,  he  has  no  idea  of  a  fair  flower  of  our  sex, 
except  to  wear  it  at  his  button-hole,  this  way  I "  added  she 


m 


222 


77//i  CV/y/uV  D'OR. 


pulling  a  rose  out  of  a  vase  and  archly  adorning  tlic  Chev 
alier's  vest  with  it. 

**  All  pretence  and  jealousy,  Mademoiselle.  The  tali 
Swede  knows  how  to  take  down  your  priae,  and  bring  you 
to  a  proper  sense  of  your  false  conceit  of  the  beauty  and 
wit  of  the  ladies  of  New  France."  :  -    <:^ 

Hortense  gave  two  or  three  tosses  of  defiance  to  ex- 
press her  emphatic  dissent  from  his  opinions. 

"  I  wish  Herr  Kalm  would  lend  me  his  philosophic 
scales  to  weigh  your  sex  like  lambs  in  market,"  contin- 
ued La  Come  St.  Luc ;  "  but  I  fear  I  am  too  old,  Hor- 
tense, to  measure  women  except  by  the  fathom,  which  is 
the  measure  of  a  man." 

"And  the  measure  of  a  man  is  the  measure  of  an 
angel,  too!  Scriptumest!  Chevalier."  replied  she.  Hortense 
had  ten  merry  meanings  in  her  eye,  and  looked  as  if  bid- 
ding him  select  which  he  chose.  "  The  learned  Swede's 
philosophy  is  lost  upon  me,"  continued  she.  "He  can 
neither  weigh  by  sample  nor  measure  by  fathom  the  girls 
of  New  France  !  "  She  tapped  him  on  the  arm.  "  Listen 
tome.  Chevalier,"  said  she;  "you  are  neglecting  meal- 
ready  for  sake  of  Cecile  Tourangeau ! "  La  Corne  was 
exchanging  some  gay  badinage  with  a  graceful,  pretty 
young  lady,  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  whose  snowy 
forehead,  if  you  examined  it  closely,  was  marked  with  a 
red  scar,  in  figure  of  a  cross,  which  although  powdered 
and  partially  concealed  by  a  frieze  of  her  thick  blonde  hair, 
was  sufficiently  distinct  to  those  who  looked  for  it ;  and 
many  did  so,  as  they  whispered  to  each  other  the  story  of 
how  she  got  it.  >■  ;    ^  *  ■.'        ^     ;r 

Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  sat  by  Cecile,  talking  in  a 
very  sociable  manner,  which  was  also  commented  on.  His 
conversation  seemed  to  be  very  attractive  to  the  young  lady, 
who  was  visibly  delighted  with  the  attentions  of  her  hand- 
lome  gallant. 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  instruments  from  the  musi- 
cians who  occupied  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  an- 
nounced a  vocal  response  to  the  toast  of  the  King's  health, 
proposed  by  the  Bourgeois.  "  Prepare  yourself  for  the 
chorus,  Chevalier,"  exclaimed  Hortense.  "  Father  de 
Berey  is  going  to  lead  the  royal  anthem  ! " 

*^  Vive ie Rot  f'  replied  La  Corne.  "No  finer  voice 
ever  sang  Mass,  nor  chinted'God  Save  the  King!*    I 


H-  'l' 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA 


"3 


like  to  liear  the  royal  anthem  from  the  lips  of  a  churchman, 
rolling  it  out,  ore  rotundo,  like  one  of  the  Psalms  of  David. 
Our  first  duty  is  to  love  God — our  next  to  honor  the  King! 
and  New  France  will  never  fail  in  either  !  "  Loyalty  was 
ingrained  in  every  fibre  of  La  Come  St.  Luc. 
"  Never,  Chevalier.  Law  and  Gospel  rule  together,  or 
fall  together  1  But  we  must  rise,"  replied  Hortense  spring- 
ing up.  • 

The  whole  company  rose  simultaneously.  The  rich, 
me.low  voice  of  the  Rev.  Father  de  Berey,  round  and  full 
as  the  organ  of  St.  Marie,  commenced  the  royal  anthem, 
composed  by  Lulli  in  honor  of  Louis  Quatorze,  upon  an 
occasion  of  his  visit  to  the  famous  convent  of  St.  Cyr,  in 
company  with  Madame  de  Maintenon.         , .   . 

The  song  composed  by  Madame  Brinon  was  afterwards 
translated  into  English,  and  words  and  music  became,  by  a 
singular  transposition,  the  national  hymn  of  the  English 
nation. 

'  God  Save  the  King  ! '  is  no  longer  heard  in  France. 
It  was  buried  with  the  people's  loyalty,  fathoms  deep  under 
the  rviins  of  the  monarchy.  But  it  flourishes  still  with 
pristine  vigor  in  New  France,  that  olive  branch  grafted  on 
the  stately  tree  of  the  British  Empire.  The  broad  chest 
and  flexile  lips  of  Father  de  Berey  rang  out  the  grand  old 
song  in  tones  that  filled  the  stately  old  hall. 

Grand  Dieu!  Sauvez  le  Roi !  c     '•>  ' 

Grand  Dieu!  Sauvez  le  Roi !  ,  -; 

Sauvez  le  Roi!  ' 

Que  toujours  glorieux.  ,,  :   .  . 

Louis  Victorieux,  ' 

Voye  ses  ennemis  , 

Toujours  soumis  I 

The  company  all  joined  in  the  choms,  the  gentlemen 
raising  their  cups,  the  ladies  waving  their  handkerchiefs, 
anc^  nale  and  female  blending  in  a  storm  of  applause  that 
made  the  old  walls  ring  with  joy.  Songs  and  speeches 
followed  in  quick  succession,  cutting  as  with  a  golden 
blade  the  hours  of  the  dessert  into  quinzaines  of  varied 
pleasures. 

The  custom  of  the  times  had  reduced  speech  making 
after  dinner  to  a  minimum.  The  ladies,  as  Father  de  Be- 
rey wittily  remarked,  preferred  private  confession  to  public 


1 


9H 


THE  CWEK  D'Ok 


V  i 


<  J 


I'  \ 


preaching ;  and  long  speeches  without  inlets  for  replj 
were  the  eighth  mortaF  sin  which  no  lady  would  foigive. 

The  Bourgeois,  however,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him- 
self to  express  his  deep  thanks  for  the  honor  dene  his 
house  on  this  auspicious  occasion.  And  he  remarked  that 
"  the  doors  of  Belmont,  so  long  closed  by  reason  of  the 
absence  of  Pierre,  would  hereafter  be  ever  open  to  welcome 
all  his  friends.  He  had  that  day  mad«  a  gift  of  Belmont, 
with  all  its  belongings,  to  Pierre,  and  "  he  hoped — "  (the 
Bourgeois  smiled  as  he  said  this,  but  he  would  not  look  in 
a  quarter  where  his  words  struck  home,)  "  He  hoped  that 
some  one  of  Quebec's  fair  daughters  would  assist  Pierre 
in  the  menage  of  his  home,  and  enable  him  to  do  honor 
to  his  housekeeping." 

Immense  was  the  applause  that  followed  the  short, 
pithy  speech  of  the  Bourgeois.  The  ladies  blushed  and 
praised,  the  gentlemen  cheered,  and  enjoyed  in  anticipa- 
tion the  renewal  of  the  old  hospitalities  of  Belmont.         ■  ■\ 

"  The  skies  are  raining  plum  cakes ! "  exclaimed  the 
Chevalier  La  Corne  to  his  lively  companion.  "  Joy's  gold- 
en drops  are  only  distilled  in  the  Alembic  of  woman's 
heart !  What  think  you,  Hortense  ?  which  of  Quebec's  fair 
daughters  will  be  willing  to  share  Belmont  with  Pierre  ?" 

"  Oh,  any  of  them  would  t "  replied  she.  "  But  why  did 
the  Bourgeois  restrict  his  choice  to  the  ladies  of  Quebec, 
when  he  knew  I  came  from  the  Three  Rivers  ?  " 

"  O,  he  was  afraid  of  you,  Hortense !  You  would 
malwC  Belmont  too  good  for  this  world  !  What  say  you, 
Father  de  Berey.^     Do  you  ever  walk  on  the  cape.? 

The  friar,  in  a  merry  mood,  had  been  edging  close  to 
Hortense.  "  I  love,  of  all  things,  to  air  my  gray  gown  on 
the  cape  of  a  breezy  afternoon,"  replied  the  jovial  Recol- 
let,  "  when  the  fashionables  are  all  out,  and  every  lady  is 
putting  her  best  foot  foremost.  It  is  then  I  feel  sure  tha", 
Horace  is  the  next  best  thing  to  the  Homilies  :  ^    , 

Teretesque  suras  laudo,  et  integer  ego  I  '\\ 

The  Chevalier  La  Corne  pinched  the  shrugging  should- 
er of  Hortense  as  he  remarked  :  "  Don't  confess  to  Father 
de  Berey  that  you  promenade  on  the  cape  !  But  I  hope 
Pierre  PhUibert  will  soon  make  his  choice  !  We  are  im- 
patient to  visit  him  and  give  old  Proven  jal  the  butler  a  run 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


395 


every  day  through  those   dark   crypts  of  his,   where  li« 
entombed  the  choicest  vintages  of  sunny  France." 

The  Chevalier  said  this  waggishly,  for  the  benefit  of 
old  Provencal,  who  stood  behind  his  chair  looking  half 
alarmed  at  the  threatened  raid  upon  his  well-filled  cellars. 

"  But  if  Pierie  should  not  commit  matrimony,"  replied 
Ilortense,  "  what  will  become  of  him  ?  and  especially  what 
will  become  of  us  ?  "  *      ; 

"  We  will  drink  his  wine  all  the  same,  good  fellow  that 
he  is  1  But  Pierre  had  as  lief  commit  suicide  as  not  com- 
mit matrimony ;  and  who  would  not  ?  Look  here,  Pierre 
Philibert,**  continued  the  old  soldier,  addressing  him  with 
good-humored  freedom,  "  Matrimony  is  clearly  your  duty, 
Pierre,  but  I  need  not  tell  you  so.  It  is  written  on  your 
face  plain  as  the  way  between  Peronne  and  St.  Quintin  I 
A  good  honest  way  as  ever  was  trod  by  shoe  leather,  and 
as  old  as  Chinon  in  Touraine !  Try  it  soon,  my  boy. 
Quebec  is  a  sack  full  of  pearls  ! "  Hortense  pulled  him 
mischievously  by  the  coat,  so  he  caught  her  hand  and  held 
it  fast  in  his,  while  he  proceeded :  *'You  put  your  hand  in 
the  sack  and  take  out  the  first  that  offers.  It  will  be  worth 
a  Jew's  ransom  !  If  you  are  lucky  to  find  the  fairest,  trust 
me  it  will  be  the  identical  pearl  of  great  price  for  which 
the  merchant  went  and  sold  all  that  he  had  and  bought  it. 
Is  not  that  Gospel,  Father  de  Berey  ?  I  think  I  have  heard 
something  like  that  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  the  Recol- 
lets?"  ■■  '^^ 

"  Matter  of  Brimborion  !  Chevalier !  not  to  questioned 
by  laymen  !  Words  of  wisdom  for  my  poor  brothers  of  St. 
Francis,  who  after  renouncing  the  world  like  to  know  that 
they  have  renounced  something  worth  having  !  But  not  to 
preach  a  sermon  on  your  parable,  Chevalier,  I  will  pro- 
mise Colonel  Philibert  that  when  he  has  found  the  pearl  of 
great  price, — "  Father  de  Berey,  who  knew  a  world  of 
secrets,  glanced  archly  at  Amdlie  as  he  said  this, — "  the 
beCls  of  our  monastv;ry  shall  ring  out  such  a  merry  peal  as 
they  have  not  rung  since  fat  Brother  Le  Gros  broke  his 
wind,  and  short  Brother  Bref  stretched  himself  out  half 
a  yard  pulling  the  bell  ropes  on  the  wedding  of  the  Dauphin. 

Great  merriment  followed  the  speech  of  Father  de  Berey. 
Hortense  rallied  the  Chevalier,  a  good  old  widower,  upon 
himself  not  travelling  the  plain  way  between  Peronne  and 
St.  Quintin,  and  jestingly  offered  herself  to  travel  with 


^5, 


tab 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR, 


I'  i"- 


I]     V    ' 


1 1 


:pv 


Ik.^ 


him  like  a  couple  ot  gypsies,  carrying  their  budget  of  happi< 
ness  pick  a  back  through  the  world. 

"Better  than  that!"  La  Come  exclaimed,  "Hortensewas 
worthy  to  ride  on  the  baggage-wagons  in  his  next  campaign  1 
Would  she  go  ?  "  She  gave  him  her  hand  "  I  expect  noth- 
ing else  I "  said  she.  "  I  am  a  soldier's  daughter,  and  expect 
to  live  a  soldier's  wife,  and  die  a  soldier's  widow.  But  a 
truce  to  jest.  It  is  harder  to  be  witty  than  wise,"  continued 
she.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  Cousin  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  as  he  read  a  note  just  handed  to 
him  by  a  servant.  He  crushed  it  in  his  hand  with  a  flash  of 
anger,  and  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  tear  it,  but  did  not. 
He  placed  it  in  his  bosom.  But  the  hilarity  of  his  counten- 
ance was  gone. 

There  was  another  persofi  seated  at  the  table,  whose 
quick  eye,  drawn  by  sisterly  affection,  saw  Le  Gardeur's 
movement  before  even  Hortense.  Amdlie  was  impatient 
to  leave  her  seat  and  go  beside  him,  but  she  could  not  at 
the  moment  leave  the  lively  circle  around  her.  She  at  once 
conjectured  that  the  note  was  from  Ang^lique  des  Meloises. 
After  drinking  deeply  two  or  three  time  Le  Gardeur  arose, 
and  with  a  faint  excuse  that  did  not  impose  on  his  partner, 
left  the  table.  Amdlie  rose  quickly  also,  excusing  herself 
to  the  Bourgeois  and  joined  her  brother  in  the  park,  where 
the  cool  night  air  blew  fresh  and  inviting  for  a  walk. 

Pretty  Cecile  Touraugeau  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
handwriting  as  she  sat  by  the  side  of  Le  Gardeur,  and 
guessed  correctly  whence  it  had  come,  and  why  her  partner 
so  suddenly  left  the  table. 

She  was  out  of  humor,  the  red  mark  upon  her  forehead 
grew  redder  as  she  pouted  in  visible  discontent.  But  the 
great  world  moves  on,  carrying  alternai*.  storms  and  sun- 
shine upon  its  surface.  The  company  rose  from  the  table. 
Some  to  the  ball-room,  some  to  the  park  and  conservatories. 
Cecile's  was  a  happy  disposition,  easily  consoled  for  her 
sorrows.  Every  trace  of  her  displeasure  was  banished  and 
almost  forgotten  from  the  moment  the  gay,  handsome 
Jumonville  de  Villiers  invited  her  out  to  the  grand  balcony, 
where  he  said,  "  the  rarest  pastime  was  going  on !  " 

And  rare  pastime  it  was !  A  group  of  laughing  but  half 
serious  girls  were  gathered  round  Doctor  Gauthier,  urging 
him  to  tell  their  fortunes  by  consulting  the  stars,  which 
to-night  shone  out  with  unusual  brilliancy. 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTKA. 


ai> 


►ny, 


At  that  period,  as  at  the  present,  and  in  every  age  of  Ihc 
<rorld,  the  female  sex,  !ike  the  Jews  of  old,  asks  signs, 
while  the  Greeks,  that  is  the  men,  seek  wisdom. 

The  time  never  was,  and  never  will  be,  when  a  woman 
will  cease  to  be  curious,  when  her  imagination  will  not  tore- 
cast  the  decrees  of  fate  in  regard  to  the  culminating  event  of 
her  life,  and  her  whole  nature — marriage.  It  was  in  vain 
Doctor  Gauthier  protested  his  inability  to  read  the  stars 
without  his  celestial  eyeglasses. 

The  ladies  would  not  accept  his  excuses,  *'  He  knew  the 
heavens  by  heart,"  they  said,  "  and  could  read  the  stars  of 
destiny  as  easily  as  the  Bishop  his  breviary." 

In  truth  the  worthy  doctor  was  not  only  a  believer,  but 
an  adept  in  astrology.  He  had  favored  his  friends  with  not 
a  few  horoscopes  and  nativities  when  pressed  to  do 
so.  His  good  nature  was  of  the  substance  of  butter,  any 
one  that  liked  could  spread  it  over  their  bread.  Many  good 
men  are  eaten  up  in  that  way  by  greedy  friends. 

Hortense  Beauharnois  urged  the  Doctor  so  merrily  and  so 
perseveringly,  promising  to  marr)^  him  herself,  if  the  stars 
said  so,  that  he  laughingly  gave  way,  but  declared  "  he 
would  tell  Hortense's  fortune  first,  which  deserved  to  be 
good  enough  to  make  her  fulfil  her  promise  just  made. 

"  She  was  resigned,"  she  said,  "  and  would  accept  any 
fate  from  the  rank  of  a  Queen  to  a  cell  among  the  old 
maids  of  St.  Cyr  I  The  girls  of  Quebec  hung  all  their  hopes 
on  the  stars,  bright  and  particular  ones  especially.  They 
were  too  loving  to  live  single,  and  too  proud  to  live  poor. 
But  she  was  one  who  would  not  wait  for  ships  to  land  that 
never  came,  and  plums  to  drop  into  her  mouth  that 
never  ripened.  Hortense  would  be  ruled  by  the  stars,  and 
wise  Doctor  Gauthier  should  to-night  declare  her  fate." 

They  all  laughed  at  this  free  talk  of  Hoi  tense.  Not  a 
few  of  the  ladies  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  looked 
askance  at  each  other,  but  many  present  wished  they  had 
courage  to  speak  like  her  to  Doctor  Gauthier. 

"  Well  I  I  see  there  is  nothing  else  for  it  but  to  submit 
to  my  ruling  star, 'and  that  is  you,  Hortense  !  "  cried  the 
Doctor.  "  So  please  stand  up  before  me  while  I  take  an 
inventory  of  your  looks,  as  a  preliminary  to  telling  your 
fortune." 

Hortense  placed  herself  instantly  before  him.  "  It  is  one 
of  the  privileges  of  our  dry  study,"  remarked  he,  as  he 


328 


TH&  CHIEN  lyOR. 


I'H. 


>i  - 


si 


looked  admiringly  on  the  tall  charming  figure  and  frank 
countenance  of  the  girl  before  him. 

"The  Querente,"  said  he  gravely,  "is  tall,  straight, 
slender,  arms  long,  hands  and  feet  of  the  smallest,  hair  just 
short  of  blackness,  piercing,  roving  eyes,  dark  as  night  and 
full  of  fire,  sight  quick,  and  temperament  alive  with  energy, 
wit  and  sense.  v '        -  • 

"  O  tell  my  fortune,  not  my  character  I  I  shall  shame  of 
energy,  wit  and  sense,  if  I  hear  such  flattery,  Doctor  ! " 
exclaimed  she,  shaking  herself  like  a  young  eagle  preparing 
to  fly. 

"  We  shall  see  what  comes  of  it,  Hortense  I  "  replied  he 
gravely,  as  with  his  gold  headed  cane  he  slowly  quartered 
the  heavens  like  an  ancient  Augur,  and  noted  the  planets 
in  their  houses.     The  doctor  was  quite  serious,  and  even 


Hortense,   catching  his  looks, 
studied  the  celestial  aspects. 


stood  very  silent  as   he 


"  Carrying  through  ether  in  perpetual  round 
Decrees  and  resolutions  of  the  Gods." 


\ 


f-' 


I.I 


"The  Lord  of  the  ascendant,"  said  he  "  is  with  the  Lord 
of  the  seventh  in  the  tenth  house.  The  Querente,  there- 
fore, shall  marry  the  man  made  for  her,  but  not  th^  man  of 
her  youthful  hope  and  her  first  love." 

"  The  stars  are  true,"  continued  he,  speaking  to  him- 
self rather  than  to  her.  "  Jupiter  in  the  seventh  house 
denotes  rank  and  dignity  by  marriage*  and  Mars  in  sextile 
foretells  successful  wars.  It  is  wonderful,  Hortense !  The 
blood  of  Beauharnois  shall  sit  on  thrones  more  than  one,  it 
shall  rule  France,  Italy,  and  Flanders ;  but  not  New  France, 
for  Saturn  in  quintile  looks  darkly  upon  the  Twins,  who 
rule  America !  " 

"  Come,  Jumonville,"  exclaimed  Hortense,  "  congratu 
late  Claude  on  the  greatness  awaiting  the  house  of  Beau- 
harnois, and  condole  with  me  that  I  am  to  see  none  of  it 
myself !  I  do  not  care  for  kings  and  queens  in  the  third 
generation,  but  I  do  care  for  happy  forfune  in  the  present, 
for  those  I  know  and  love !  Come,  Jumonville,  have  your 
fortune  told  now,  to  keep  me  in  countenance.  If  the 
Doctor  hits  the  truth  for  you  I  shall  believe  in  him  for 
nyself." 

*tThat  is  a  good  idea,  Hortense,"  replied  Jumonville  j 


S/C  nVR  AD  ASTRA. 


•^ 


m 


*•  I  long  ago  hung  my  hat  on  the  stars — let  the  Doctor  try 
if  he  can  nnd  it." 

The  Doctor,  in  great  good  humor,  surveyed  the  dark, 
handsome  face  and  lithe,  athletic  figure  of  Jumonville  de 
Villiers.  He  again  raised  his  cane  with  the  gravity  of  a 
Roman  "''  ntifex,  marking  off  his  Tetnplum  in  the  heavens. 
Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  repeated  more  carefully  his 
survey,  and  then  turned  his  earnest  eyes  upon  the  young 
soldier. 

"  You  see  ill-fortune  for  me,  Doctor ! "  exclaimed 
Jumonville,  with  bright,  unflinching  eyes,  as  he  would 
look  on  danger  of  any  kind. 

"  The  Hyleg,  or  giver  of  life,  is  afflicted  by  Mars  in 
the  eighth  house,  and  Saturn  is  in  evil  aspect  in  the  ascen- 
dant I "  said  the  Doctor  slowly. 

"  That  sounds  warlike  and  means  fighting,"  I  suppose, 
Doctor.  "  It  is  a  brave  fortune  for  a  soldier.  Go  on  I  " 
Jumonville  was  in  fiarnest  now. 

"  The  pars  fortunce"  continued  the  Doctor,  gazing 
upward,  "  rejoices  in  a  benign  aspect  with  Venus.  Fame, 
true  love,  and  immortality  will  be  yours,  Jumonville  de 
Villiers;  but  you  will  die  young  under  the  flag  of  youi 
country  and  for  sake  of  your  King !  You  will  not  marry, 
but  all  the  maids  and  matrons  of  New  France  will  lament 
your  fate  with  tears,  and  from  your  death  shall  spring  up 
the  salvation  of  your  native  land  I  How,  I  see  not  i 
But,  decretum  est^  Jumonville,  ask  me  no  more  I " 

A  thrill  like  a  stream  of  electricity  passed  through  the 
company.  Their  mirth  was  extinguished,  for  none  could 
wholly  free  their  minds  from  the  superstition  of  their 
age.  The  good  Doctor  sat  down  and  wiped  his  moistened 
eye-glasses.  "  He  would  tell  no  more  to-night,"  he  said. 
*'  He  had  really  gone  too  far,  making  jest  of  earnest,  and 
earnest  of  jest,  and  begged  pardon  of  Jumonville  for  com- 
plying with  his  humor." 

The  young  soldier  laughed  merrily.  "  If  fame,  immor- 
tality, and  true  love  are  to  be  mine,  what  care  I  for  death? 
It  will  be  worth  giving  up  life  for,  to  have  the  tears  ot 
the  maids  and  matrons  of  New  France  to  lament  your 
fate.  What  could  the  most  ambitious  soldier  desire 
more  ? " 

The  words  of  Jumonville  struck  a  kindred  chord  in  the 
bosom  c>£  Hortense  de  Beauharnois.    They  were  stamped 


'■:% 


»3o 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


I'  if  < 


i.,t 


n 


-{ ' 


Ih    t 


upon  her  heart  for  ever.  A  few  years  after  this  prediction 
Jumonville  de  Villiers  lay  slain  under  a  flag  of  truce  on 
the  bank  of  the  Monongahela,  and  of  all  the  maids  and 
matrons  of  New  France  who  wept  over  his  fate,  none 
shed  more  and  bitterer  tears  than  his  fair  betrothed  bride, 
Hortense  de  Beauharnois. 

The  prediction  of  the  Sieur  Gauthier  was  repeated  and 
retold  as  a  strangely  true  tale.  It  passed  into  the  trad- 
itions of  the  people,  and  lingered  in  their  memory  gener- 
ations after  the  festival  of  Belmont  was  utterly  forgotten. 

When  the  great  revolt  took  place  in  the  English 
colonies,  the  death  of  the  gallant  Jumonville  de  Villiers 
was  neither  forgotten  nor  forgiven  by  New  France.  Con- 
gress appealed  in  vain  for  union  and  help  from  Canadians. 
Washington's  proclamations  were  trodden  under  foot,  and 
his  troops  driven  back  or  captured.  If  Canada  was  lost 
to  France  partly  through  the  death  of  Jumonville,  it  may 
also  be  said  that  his  blood  helped  to  save  it  to  England. 
The  ways  of  Providence  are  so  mysterious  in  working  out 
the  problems  of  national  existence  that  the  life  or  death 
of  a  single  individual  may  turn  the  scale  of  destiny  over 
half  a  continent. 

But  all  these  events  lay  as  yet  darkly  in  the  womb  of 
the  future.  The  gallant  Jumonville,  who  fell,  and  his 
brother  Coulon,  who  took  his  "noble  revenge"  upon 
Washington  by  sparing  his  life,  were  to-day  the  gayest 
of  the  gay  throng  who  had  assembled  to  do  honor  to  Pierre 
Philibert.  ♦:, 

While  this  group  of  merry  guests,  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest,  were  trying  to  discover  in  the  stars  the  "  far  reaching 
concords  "  that  moulded  the  life  of  each,  Am^lie  led  her 
brother  away  from  the  busy  grounds  near  the  mansion,  and 
took  a  quiet  path  that  led  into  the  great  park  which  they 
entered. 

The  western  horizon  still  retained  a' streak  from  day's 
golden  finger  where  the  5un  had  gone  down.  It  was  very 
dusk  under  the  great  oaks  and  thick  pines.  But  the  valley 
was  visible  as  it  yawned  darkly  beneath  their  feet,  and  the 
shimmering  river  at  the  bottom  could  be  traced  by  the 
reflection  of  the  stars  that  followed  its  course. 

A  cool  salt-water  breeze,  follo\ying  the  flood  tide  that 
was  coming  up  the  broad  St  Lawrence,  swept  their  faces  as 
Ara^lie  walked  by  the  side  of  Le  Gardeur,  talking  in  hei 


■I  ^ 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


»3« 


quiet  way  of  things  familiar,  and  of  homo  interests  until 
she  suw  the  fever  of  his  blood  abate,  and  his  thoughts 
return  into  cahner  channels.  Her  gentle  craft  subdued  his 
impetuous  mood — if  craft  it  might  be  called — for  more 
wisely  cunning  than  all  craft  is  the  prompting  of  true  affec- 
tion, where  reason  responds  like  instinct  to  the  wants  of 
the  heart. 

They  sat  down  upon  a  garden  seat  overlooking  the 
great  valley.  None  of  the  guests  had  sauntered  out  so  far, 
but  Amtflie's  heart  was  full,  she  had  nuich  to  say,  and 
wished  no  interruption. 

"I  am  glad  to  sit  in  this  pretty  spot,  Amelic  "  said  he, 
at  last,  for  he  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  sweet  low  voice 
of  his  sister  as  she  kept  up  her  half  sad,  half  glad  mono- 
logue, because  she  saw  it  pleased  him.  It  brought  him 
into  a  mood  in  which  she  might  venture  to  talk  of  the 
matter  that  pressed  sorely  upon  her  heart. 

"  A  little  while  ago,  I  feared  I  might  offend  you, 
Le  Gardeur,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand  tenderly  in  hers,"  if 
I  spoke  all  I  wished.  I  never  did  offend  you  that  I  remem- 
ber, brother,  did  I  ? " 

"  Never,  my  incomparable  sisier,  you  never  did,  and 
never  could.  Say  what  you  will,  ask  me  what  you  like  ;  but 
I  fear  I  am  unworthy  of  your  affection,  sister } " 

"  You  are  not  unworthy,  God  gave  you  as  my  only 
brother,  you  will  never  be  unworthy  in  my  eyes.  But  it 
touches  me  to  the  quick  to  suspect  others  may  think  lightly 
of  you,  Le  Gardeur." 

He  flinched,  for  his  pride  was  touched,  but  he  knew 
Am^lie  was  right.  '*  It  was  weakness  in  me,"  said  he,  "  I 
confess  it  sister.  To  pour  wine  upon  my  vexation  in  hope 
to  cure  it,  is  to  feed  a  fire  with  oil.  To  throw  fire  into  a 
powder  magazine  were  wisdom  compared  with  my  folly, 
Amdlie ;  I  was  angry  at  the  message  I  got  at  such  a  time. 
Angdlique  des  Meloises  has  no  mercy  upon  her  lovers  1 " 

"  O  my  prophetic  heart !  1  thought  as  much  I  It  was 
Angelique,  then,  sent  you  the  letter  you  read  at  table  ? " 

"  Yes,  who  else  could  have  moved  me  so  ?  The  time 
was  ill-chosen,  but  I  suspect  hating  theBourgeois,  as  she 
does,  Angdlique  intended  to  call  me  from  Pierre's  fete. 
I  shall  obey  her  now,  but  to  night  she  shall  obey  me,  decide 
to  make  or  mar  me,  one  way  or  other !  You  may  read 
the  letter,  Amdlie,  if  you  will."  ;    4 


•3« 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR 


I,.,  f  - 


:<// 


'*! 


.  nil 


n 


"  I  care  not  to  read  it,  brother,  I  know  Ang^lique  too 
well  not  to  fear  her  influence  over  you.  Her  craft  and  bold- 
ness were  always  a  terror  to  her  companions.  But  you  will 
not  leave  Pierre's  fdte  to  night?  "  added  she,  half  imploring* 
ly.    For  she  felt  keenly  the  discourtesy  to  Pierre  Philibert 

"  I  must  do  even  that,  sister  I  Were  Ang^Iique  aa 
faulty  as  she  is  fair  I  should  only  love  her  the  more  foi 
her  faults,  and  make  them  my  own.  Were  she  to  come  to 
me  like  Herodias  with  the  Baptist's  head  in  a  charger,  I 
should  outdo  Herod  in  keeping  my  pledge  to  her." 

Amdlie  uttered  a  low  moaning  cry.  "  Oh  my  dear 
infatuated  brother  !  It  is  not  in  nature  for  a  De  Repen- 
tigny  to  love  irrationally  like  that !  What  maddening 
philtre  have  you  drank  to  intoxicate  you  with  a  woman 
who  uses  you  so  imperiously  ?  But  you  will  not  go,  Le 
Gardeur!"  added  she  clinging  to  his  arm.  "You  are  safe 
so  long  as  you  are  with  your  sister,  you  will  be  safe  no 
longer  if  you  go  to  the  Maison  des  Meloises,  to  night ! " 

"  Go  1  must  and  shall,  Am^He  !  I  have  drank  the  mad- 
dening philtre,  I  know  that,  Amdlie  !  and  would  not  take 
an  antidote,  if  I  had  one.  The  world  has  no  antidote  to 
cure  me.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  cured  of  love  for  Ang^lique, 
and  in  fine  I  cannot  be,  so  let  me  go  and  receive  the  rod 
for  coming  to  Belmont  and  the  reward  for  leaving  it  at  her 
si'.nmcns  !  "  He  affected  a  tone  of  levity,  but  Am^lie's 
ear  easily  detected  the  false  ring  of  it. 

"  Dearest  brother !  "  said  she,  "  are  you  sure  Ang^lique 
returns  qf  is  capable  of  returning  love  like  yours  ?  She  is 
like  the  rest  of  us,  weak  and  fickle,  merely  human  and  not 
at  all  the  divinity  a  man  in  his  fancy  worships  when  in 
love  with  a  voman."  It  was  in  vain,  however,  for  Am^lie 
to  try  to  persuade  her  brother  of  that. 

"  What  care  I,  Am^lie,  so  long  as  Ang61ique  is  nof: 
weak  and  fickle  to  me  ? "  answered  he,  "  but  she  will  think 
her  tardy  lover  is  both  weak  and  fickle  unless  I  put  in  a 
speedy  appearance  at  the  Maison  des  Meloises ! "  He 
rose  up  as  if  to  depart,  still  holding  his  sister  by  the  hand* 

Amdlie's  tears  flowed  silently  in  the  darkness.  She 
was  not  willing  to  plant  a  seed  of  distrust  in  the  bosom  ol 
her  brother,  yet  she  remembered  bitterly  and  indignantly 
what  Ang^lique  had  said  of  her  intentions  towards  the 
Intendant.  Was  she  using  Le  Gardeur  as  a  foil  to  set  off 
her  attractions  in  the  eyes  of  Bigot?  ..  ^,.  . .  .  ..^  -  ,= 


•4-':,    ,:|..J  ^' 


SIC  ITUK  AD  AST/tA. 


ajl 


'*  Brother !  "  said  Amdiic,  "  I  am  a  woman  and  compre* 
hcnd  my  sex  better  than  you.  I  know  Angfelique's  fir 
re<iching  ambition  and  crafty  ways ;  are  you  sure,  not  in 
outward  persuasion  but  in  inward  conviction,  that  she 
loves  you,  as  a  woman  should  love  the  man  she  means  to 
marry?" 

Le  Gardeur  felt  her  words  like  a  silver  probe  that 
searched  his  heart.  With  all  his  unbounded  devotion,  he 
knew  Ang^lique  too  well,  not  to  feel  a  pang  of  distrust 
sometimes,  as  she  showered  her  coquetries  upon  every  side 
of  her.  "  It  was  the  overabundance  of  her  love,"  he  said, 
but  he  thought  it  often  fell  like  the  dew  round  Gideons' 
fleece,  refreshing  all  the  earth  about  it,  but  leaving  the 
fleece  dry.  "  Amelie  I  "  said  he,  "  you  try  me  hard  and 
tempt  me  too,  my  sister,  but  it  is  useless.  Angelique  may 
be  false  as  Cressid  to  other  men,  she  will  not  be  false  to 
me  I  She  has  sworn  it,  with  her  hand  in  mine,  before  the 
altar  of  Notre  Dame.  I  would  go  down  to  perdition  with 
her  in  my  arms  rather  than  be  a  crowned  king  with  all  the 
world  of  women  to  choose  from  and  not  get  her." 

Amelie  shuddered  at  his  vehemence  ;  but  she  knew  how 
useless  was  expostulation.  She  wisely  refrained,  deeming 
it  her  duty  like  a  good  sister,  to  make  the  best  of  what 
she  could  not  hinder.  Some  jasmins  overhung  the  seat, 
she  plucked  a  handful  and  gave  them  to  him  as  they  rose 
to  return  to  the  house.  i 

"  lake  them  with  you,  Le  Gardeur"  said  she,  giving  him 
the  flowers  which  she  *ied  into  a  wreath.  "They  will 
remind  Ang^lique  that  she  has  a  powerful  rival  in  your 
sister's  love." 

He  took  them  as  they  walked  slowly  back.  "Would 
she  were  like  you,  Amelie,  in  all  things,"  said  he.  I  will  put 
some  of  your  flowers  in  her  hair  to-night,  for  your  sake, 
sister.*' 

"  And  for  her  own !  May  they  be  for  you  both  an 
a  igury  of  good  I  Mind  and  return  home,  Le  Gardeur, 
after  your  visit.  I  shall  sit  up  to  await  your  arrival,  to 
congratulate  you;"  and,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "or  to 
console  you,  brother  1 " 

"  O,  no  fear,  sister ! "  replied  he,  cheeringly.  "Ang^liqne 
is  true  as  steel  to  me.  You  shall  call  her  my  betrothed  to- 
morrow! Good  by!  And  now  go  dance  with  all  delight 
till  morning."     He  kissed  her  and  departed  for  the  city. 


234 


fHE  CHIEl^  DOR. 


^^:l 


n  ff-./ 


■k-  >■■ 


leaving  her  in  the  ball  room  by  the  side  of  the  Lady  De 
Tilly. 

Amdlie  related  to  her  aunt  the  result  of  her  conversa- 
tion with  Le  Gardeur,  and  the  cause  of  his  leaving  the/<?/lf 
so  abruptly.  The  Lady  De  Tilly  listened  with  surprife 
and  distress.  "To  think,"  said  she,  "of  Le  Garden/  ask- 
in*  that  terrible  girl  to  marry  him  !  My  only  hope  is,  she 
will  refuse  him.     And  if  it  be  as  I  hear,  I  think  she  will ! " 

"  It  would  be  the  ruin  of  Le  Gardeur  if  she  did,  aunt  I 
You  cannot  think  how  determined  he  is  on  this  marriage." 

"  It  would  be  his  ruin  if  she  accepted  him ! "  replied 
the  Lady  De  Tilly.  "  With  any  other  woman  Le  Garde- 4r 
might  have  a  fair  chance  of  happiness ;  but  none  with  her  I 
More  than  one  of  her  lovers  lies  in  a  bloody  grave  by 
reason  of  her  coquetries.  She  has  ruined  every  man  whom 
she  has  flattered  into  loving  her.  She  is  without  affection. 
Her  thoughts  are  covered  with  a  veil  of  deceit  impene- 
trable. She  would  sacrifice  the  whole  world  to  her  vanity. 
I  fear,  Am^lie,  she  will  sacrifice  Le  Gardeur  as  ruthlessly 
as  the  most  worthless  of  her  admirers. 

"  We  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  aunt ;  and  I  do  think 
Angelique  loves  Le  Gardeur  as  she  never  loved. any  other." 
Am^lie  looked  into  her  own  heart,  and  thought  that  where 
love  really  is,  the  world  cannot  limit  its  possibilities. 

They  were  presently  rejoined  by  Pierre  Philibert.  The 
Lady  De  Tilly  and  Am6lie  apologized  for  Le  Gardeur's 
departure.  "  He  had  been  compelled  to  go  to  the  city  on 
an  affair  of  urgency,  and  had  left  them  to  make  his  excuses." 
Pierre  Philibert  was  not  without  a  shrewd  perception  of  the 
state  of  affairs.  He  pitied  Le  Gardeur  and  excused  him, 
speaking  most  kindly  of  him  in  a  way  that  touched  the 
heart  of  Am^lie.  The  ball  went  on  with  unflagging  spirit 
and  enjoyment.  The  old  walls  fairly  vibrated  with  the 
music  and  dancing  of  the  gay  company. 

The  Chevalier  La  Corne  finding  the  Lady  De  Tilly  and 
his  god-daughter  anxious  to  leave  before  midnight,  ordered 
their  carriages  and  prepared  to  accompany  them  home. 

Tlie  music,  like  the  tide  in  the  great  river  thai  night, 
reached  its  flood  only  after  the  small  hours  had  set  in. 
Am<51ie  had  given  her  hapd  to  Pie:  \e  f (  r  one  or  t^o  dances, 
and  many  a  friendly,  many  a  halt  envious  guess,  was  made 
AS  to  the  probable  Chdtelaine  of  Belmont. 

The  Governor,  the  Lady  De  Tilly,  Amelia,  and  many 


^'  .  ?"s 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER, 


>3S 


of  tlie  older  guests,  took  courteous  leave  of  the  Bourgcoia 
and  of  Pierre,  and  returned  about  midnight  to  the  city 
But  the  music  beat  wearily  under  their  feet  before  the 
young<;r  and  more  ardent  votaries  of  the  dance  could  leave 
the  splendid  ball-room  of  Belmont.  The  spires  of  the 
distant  churches  and  convents  began  to  glitter  in  the  grey 
of  the  morning  by  the  time  they  had  all  reached  their 
couches,  to  talk  or  dream  over  the  memorable /c/e  of  Pierre 
Philibert — the  finest,  as  all  pronounced  it,  ever  given  in 
the  old  city  of  Quebec. 


f 


.      CHAPTER  XXIII.        <  .    :v  .. 

SO    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER.  ;iu 

The  lamps  burned  brightly  in  the  boudoir  of  Ang^lique 
Des  Meloises  on  the  night  of  the  /eU  of  Pierre  Philibert. 
Masses  of  fresh  flowers  filled  the  antique  Sbvres  vases,  send- 
ing delicious  odors  through  the  apartment  which  was  fur- 
nished in  a  style  of  almost  royal  splendor.  Upon  the 
white  hearth  a  few  billets  of  wood  blazed  cheerfully,  for, 
after  a  hot  day,  as  was  not  uncommon  in  New  France,  a 
cool,  salt-water  breeze  came  up  the  great  river,bringing 
reminders  of  cold  sea-washed  rocks  and  snowy  crevices 
still  lingering  upon  the  mountainous  shores  of  the  St. 
Lawrence. 

Ang^lique  sat  idly  watching  the  wreaths  of  smoke  as 
they  rose  in  shapes  fantastic  as  her  own  thoughts.  She 
was  ill  at  ease  and  listened  eagerly  to  every  sound  that 
came  up  from  the  street,  as  she  watched  and  waited  for 
the  footstep  she  knew  so  well. 

By  that  subtle  instinct  which  is  a  sixth  sense  in  woman, 
she  knew  that  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  would  visit  her 
to-night,  and  renew  his  offer  of  marriage.  She  tried  to 
rehearse  what  she  should  say  to  him,  and  how  comport  her- 
self so  as  neither  to  affront  him  nor  commit  herself  by  any 
rash  engagement.  Her  fingers  worked  nervously  together 
as  she  pondered  over  expressions  to  use  and  studied  looks 
to  give  him,  that  should  be  neither  too  warm  nor  too  cold. 


t  .  > 

;:/   ,''J 


«■■',■ 


•36 


THE  CHIEN  JJOR. 


It    ^ 


She  meant  to  retain  his  love  and  evade  his  proposals,  and 
she  never  for  a  moment  doubted  her  ability  to  accomplish 
her  ends.  Men's  hearts  had  hitherto  been  but  potter's 
clay  in  her  hands,  and  she  had  no  misgivings  now,  but  she 
felt  that  the  love  of  Le  Gardeur  was  a  thing  she  could  not 
tread  on  without  a  shock  to  herself  like  the  counter 
stroke  of  a  torpedo  to  the  naked  foot  of  an  Indian,  who 
rashly  steps  upon  it  as  it  basks  in  a  sunny  pool. 

She  was  agitated  beyond  her  wont,  for  she  loved  I^ 
Gardeur  with  a  strange  selfish  passion,  for  her  own  sake, 
not  for  his — a  sort  of  love  not  uncommon  with  either  sex. 
She  had  the  frankness  to  be  half  ashamed  of  it,  for  she 
knew  the  wrong  she  was  doing  to  one  of  the  most  noble 
and  faithful  hearts  in  the  world.  But  the  arrival  of  the 
Intendant  had  unsettled  every  good  resolution  she  had 
once  made  to  marry  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  and  be- 
come a  reputable  matron  in  society.  Her  ambitious  fan- 
tasies dimmed  every  perception  of  duty  to  her  own  heart 
as  well  as  his;  and  she  had  worked  herself  into  that  unen- 
viable frame  of  mind  which  possesses  a  woman  who  cannot 
resolve  either  to  consent  or  deny,  to  accept  her  lover  or  to 
let  him  go ! 

The  solitude  of  her  apartment  became  insupportable  to 
her.  She  sprang  up,  opened  the  window,  and  sat  down  in 
the  balcony  outside,  trying  to  find  composure  by  looking 
down  into  the  dark  still  street.  The  voices  of  two  men 
engaged  in  eager  conversation  reached  her  ear.  They  sat 
upon  the  broad  steps  of  the  house,  so  that  every  word  they 
spoke  reached  her  ear,  although  she  could  scarcely  distin- 
guish them  in  the  darkness.  These  were  no  other  than  Max 
Grimeau  and  Blind  Bartemy,  the  .brace  of  beggars  whose 
post  was  at  the  gate  of  the  Basse  Ville.  They  seemed  to 
be  comparing  the  amount  of  alms  each  had  received  during 
the  day,  and  were  arranging  for  a  supper  at  some  obscure 
haunt  they  frequented  in  the  purlieus  of  the  lower  town, 
when  another  figure,  came  up,  short,  dapper,  and  carrying 
a  knapsack,  as  Angdlique  could  detect  by  the  glimmer  of  a 
lantern  that  hung  on  a  rope  stretched  across  the  street.  He 
was  greeted  warmly  by  the  old  mendicants. 

**  Sure  as  my  old  Musket ! — it  is  Master  Pothier,  and  na 
body  else  !  "  exclaimed  Max  Grimeau,  rising,  and  giving 
the  new  comer  a  hearty  embrace.  "  Don't  you  see,  Bar- 
temy?     He  has  been  fo  aging  among  the  fat  wives  of 


SC  GLOBED  THE  TEMPI ER. 


ni 


the  South  she  re.  What  a  cheek  he  blows  ! — red  as  a  peony) 
and  fat  as  a  Dutch  Burgomaster !  "  Max  had  seen  plenty 
of  the  world  when  he  marched  under  Marshal  de  Belle- 
isle  ;  so  he  was  at  no  loss  for  apt  comparisons. 

"  Yes !  "  replied  blind  Bartemy,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  be  shaken.  "  I  see  by  your  voice,  Master  Pothier,  that 
you  have  not  said  grace  over  bare  bones  during  your  ab- 
sence.    But  where  have  you  been  this  long  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fleecing  the  king's  subjects  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
ability  in  the  law  ;  and  without  half  th  '  success  of  you  and 
Max,  here,  who  toll  the  gate  of  the  JJasse  Ville  more  easily 
than  the  Intendant  gets  in  the  king's  taxes  !  " 

*'  Why  not  t "  replied  Bartemy,  with  a  pious  twist  of 
his  neck,  and  an  upward  cast  of  his  blank  orbs.  "  It  is 
pour  r amour  de  Dieu  !  We  beggars  save  more  souls  than 
the  Curd  ;  for  we  are  always  exhorting  men  to  charity,  f 
think  we  ought  to  be  part  of  Holy  Church  as  well  as  the 
Grey  Friars." 

"  And  so  we  are  part  of  Holy  Church,  Bartemy  1 " 
interrupted  Max  Crimean.  "  When  the  good  Bishop 
washed  twelve  pair  of  our  dirty  feet  on  Maunday-Thursday 
in  the  Cathedral,  I  felt  like  an  Apostle — I  did  !  My  feet 
were  just  ready  for  benediction  ;  for  see  !  they  had  never 
been  washed,  that  I  remember  of,  since  I  marched  to  the 
relief  of  Prague  !  But  you  should  have  been  out  to  Bel- 
mont, to-day.  Master  Pothier !  There  was  the  grandest 
Easter-pie  ever  made  in  New  P'rance !  You  might  have 
carried  on  a  lawsuit  inside  of  it,  and  lived  off  the  estate 
for  a  year — I  ate  a  bushel  of  it.     I  did  !  " 

"  Oh,  the  cursed  luck  is  every  day  mine  ! "  replied  Master 
Pothier,  clapping  his  hands  upon  his  stomach.  "  I  would  noi 
have  missed  that  Easter-pie, — no, — not  to  draw  the  Pope's 
will !  But — as  it  is  laid  down  in  the  Coutume  d'Orlians 
(Tit.  1 7),  the  absent  lose  the  usufruct  of  their  rights  ;  vide 
also  Pothier  des  successions. — I  lost  my  share  of  the  pie  of 
Belmont !  " 

"  Well  never  mind.  Master  Pothier,"  replied  Max. 
"  Don't  grieve  ;  you  shall  go  with  us  to  night  to  the  Fleurdt 
Lys,  in  the  Sault  au  Matelot.  Bartemy  and  I  have  bespoken 
an  eel-pie  and  a  gallon  of  humming  cider  of  Normandy,  We 
shall  all  be  jolly  as  .^he  Marguilliers  of  St.  Roch,  after 
tithing  the  parish  ! " 

"  ITave  with  you,  then !    I  am  free  now ;  I  have  jusi 


v 


«3* 


THE  CniEN  D'Ok. 


delivered  a  letter  to  the  Intendant  from  a  lady  at  Beai> 
manoir,  and  got  a  crown  for  it.  I  will  lay  it  on  top  oi 
your  eel-pie^  Max !  " 

Ang^lique,  from  being  simply  amused  at  the  copversa- 
lion  of  the  old  beggars,  became  in  an  instant  all  eyes  und 
ears  at  the  words  of  Master  Pothier. 

"  Had  you  ever  the  fortune  to  see  that  lady  at  Beau- 
nanoir  ?  "  asked  Max,  with  more  curiosity  than  was  to  be 
expected  of  one  in  his  position. 

"  No  :  the  letter  was  handed  me  by  Dame  Tremblay, 
with  a  cup  of  wine.  But  the  Intendant  gave  me  a  crown, 
when  he  reid  it.  I  never  saw  the  Chevalier  Bigot  in  better 
humor  I  That  letter  touched  both  his  purse  and  his  feelings. 
But  how  did  you  ever  come  to  hear  of  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir  ? " 

"  Oh,  Bartemy  and  I  hear  everything  at  the  gate  of 
the  Basse  Ville  !  My  Lord  Bishop  and  Father  Glapion  of 
the  Jesuits  met  in  the  gate  one  day,  and  spoke  of  her,* 
each  asking  the  other,  if  he  knew  who  she  was  ? — when  up 
rode  the  Intendant ;  and  th6  Bishop  made  free,  as  Bishops 
will,  you  know,  to  question  him,  whether  he  kept  a  lady  at 
the  Chateau  ?  " 

" '  A  round  dozen  of  them  !  my  Lord  Bishop  !'  replied 
Bigot,  laughing.  La !  It  takes  the  Intendant  to  talk 
down  a  Bishop !  He  bade  my  Lord  not  to  trouble  him- 
self. Thf :  Ldy  was  under  his  fufe//e  !  which  I  comprehended 
as  little,  as  little —  " 

"  As  you  do  your  Nominy  Dominy  !  "  replied  Pothier. 
"  Don't  be  angry,  Max,  if  I  infer  that  the  Intendant  quot- 
ed Pigean,  (Tit.  2,  27);  Le  Tutetir est comptable  de sa gestion.^^ 

"  I  don't  care  what  the  Pigeons  have  to  say  to  it !  That 
is  what  the  Intendant  said !  "  replied  Max,  hotly,  and  "  that^ 
for  your  law  grimoire,  Master  Pothier !  "  Max  snapped 
his  fingers  like  the  lock  of  his  musket,  at  Prague,  to 
Indicate  what  he  meant  by  that ! 

**  Oh;,  Inepte  loqucns  !  you  don't  understand  either  law 
or  Latin,  Max  ! "  exclaimed  Pothier,  shaking  his  ragged 
wig  with  an  aii'  of  pity. 

"  I  understand  begging ;  and  that  is  getting  without 
cheating,  and  much  more  to  the  purpose,"  replied  Max, 
hotly  "  Look  you,  Master  Pothier  !  you  are  learned  as 
three  curates  ;  but  I  can  get  more  money  in  the  gate  of  the 
Basse  Ville  by  simply  standing  still,  and  crying  out,  Pout 


so  CLOIED  THE  TEMPTER. 


»39 


as 
he 
mt 


r amour  {fe  D/eu  /  than  you  with  your  budget  of  law  ////^ 
/'ingOf  running  up  an  J  down  the  country  until  the  dogs  eat 
off  the  calves  of  your  legs,  as  they  say  in  the  Nivernois." 

"Well,  never  mind  what  they  say  in  the  Nivemois 
about  tlie  calves  of  my  legs  I  Bon  coq  tie  fut  jamais  gras  t 
A  game-cock  is  never  fat ;  and  that  is  Master  Pothier,  dii 
Robin.  Lean  as  are  my  calves,  they  will  carry  away  as 
much  of  your  eel-pie  to  night  as  those  of  the  stoutest  carter 
in  Quebec  ! " 

"  And  the  pie  is  baked  by  this  time  ! — so  let  us  be  jog- 
ging, "  interrupted  Barteniy,  rising.  "Now  give  me 
your  arm,  Max!  and  with  Master  Pothier's  on  the  other 
side,  I  shall  walk  to  the  Fkur  dt  Lys  straight  as  a  steeple." 

The  glorious  prospect  of  supper,  made  all  three  merry 
as  crickets  on  a  warm  hearth,  as  they  jogged  over  the 
pavement,  in  their  clouted  shoes,  little  suspecting  they  had 
left  a  flame  of  anger  in  the  breast  of  Angdlique  des  Me- 
loises,  kindled  by  the  few  words  of  Pothier,  respecting  the 
lady  of  Beaumanoir. 

Ang^lique  recalled,  with  bitterness,  that  the  rude  bearer 
of  the  note  had  observed  something  that  had  touched  the 
heart  and  opened  the  purse  of  the  Intendant.  What  was  it  ? 
Was  Bigot  playing  a  game  with  Angdlique  des  Meloises  ? 
Woe  to  him  and  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir,  if  he  was  !  As  she 
sat  musing  over  it,  a  knock  was  heard  on  the  door  of  her 
boudoir.  She  left  the  balcony,  and  re-entered  her  room, 
where  a  neat  comely  girl,  in  a  servant's  dress,  was  waiting 
10  speak  to  her. 

The  girl  was  not  known  to  Angdlique.  But  curtseying 
ver)'  low,  she  informed  her  that  she  was  Fanchon  Dodier, 
a  cousin  of  Lizette's.  She  had  been  in  service  at  the  Cha- 
teau of  Beaumanoir,  but  had  just  left  it.  "  There  is  no 
living  under  Dame  Tremblay  !"  said  she,  "  if  she  suspect 
a  maid-servant  of  flirting,  ever  so  little,  with  M.  Froumois, 
the  handsome  Valet  of  the  Intendant !  She  imagined  that  I 
did  ;  and  such  a  life  as  she  has  led  me,  my  lady  !  So  I 
came  to  the  city,  to  ask  advice  of  cousin  Lizette,  and  seek 
a  new  place.  I  am  sure  Dame  Tremblay  need  not  be  so 
h  ird  upon  the  maids.  She  is  always  boasting  of  her  own 
triumphs  when  she  was  the  charming  Josephine.  " 

"  And  Lizette  referred  you  tome  ?"  asked  Ang^lique,  too 
occupied  just  now  to  mind  the  gossip  about  Dame  Tremblay, 
which  another  time  she  would  have  enjoyed  immensely^ 


•ill 


■.CS;--;;^.: 


m  ' 


340 


7Vr£  CHIEN  lyoR, 


n^:.- 


^  3  ■* 


tl^ 


V    \   '  ^^'• 


si 


11 

It 


She  eyed  the  girl  with  intense  curiosity  ;  for,  might  she  not 
tell  her  something  of  the  secret  over  whii:h  she  was  eating 
her  heart  out  ? 

"  Yes,  my  Lady  !  Lizette  referred  me  to  you,  and  told 
me  to  be  very  circumspect  indeed  about  what  I  said  touch- 
ing the  Intendant,  but  simply  to  ask  if  you  would  take  me 
into  your  service  ?  Lizette  need  not  have  warned  me  about 
the  Intendant ;  for  I  never  reveal  secrets  of  my  xasters  or 
»^is'resses,  never  !  never !  my  Lady  !  " 

'  You  are  more  cunning  th?n  you  look,  nevertheless," 
thought  Ang^lique,  "  whatever  scruple  you  may  have  about 
secrets.  Fanchon,"  said'she,  "I  will  make  one  condition 
with  you :  I  will  take  you  into  my  service  if  you  will  tell 
me  whether  you  ever  saw  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoit  ? " 

Ang^lique's  notions  of  honor,  clear  enough  in  theory, 
never  prevented  her  sacrificing  them  without  compunction, 
to  gain  an  object  or  learn  a  secret  that  interested  her. 

"I  will  willingly  tell  you  all  I  know,  my  Lady.  1  have 
seen  her  once  ;  none  of  the  servants  are  supposed  to  know 
she  is  in  the  Chdteaii,  but  of  course  all  do.  "  Fanchon 
stood  with  her  two  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  apron,  as 
ready  to  talk  as  the  pretty  Grisette  who  directed  Lawrence 
Sterne  to  the  Opera  Comique. 

"  Of  course  !  "  remarked  Angelique,  "  a  secret  like  that 
could  never  be  kept  in  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir ! 
Now  tell  me,  Fanchon,  what  is  she  like  ?  "  Angelique  sat  up 
eagerly,  and  brushed  back  the  hair  from  her  ear  with  a 
rapid  stroke  of  her  hand,  as  she  questioned  the  girl. 
There  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  made  Fanchon  a  little 
afraid,  and  brought  out  more  truth  than  she  intended  to 
impart.  ■  .  ■  J  '  • 

**  I  saw  her  this  morning,  my  Lady,  as  she  knelt  in  her 
oratory.  The  half-open  door  tempted  me  to  look,  in  spite 
of  the  orders  of  Dame  Tremblay." 

"  Ah !  you  saw  her  this  morning !  "  repeated  Ang^>iq[ue 
impetuously ;  "  how  does  she  appear  ?  Is  she  better  in 
looks  than  when  she  first  came  to  the  Chdteau,  or  worse  ? 
She  ought  to  be  worse,  much  worse  ! " 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  Lady,  but,  as  I  said,  I  looked  in 
the  door,  although  forbid  to  do  so.  Half-open  doors  are 
so  tempting,  and  one  cannot  shut  one's  eyes  I  Even  a  key- 
hole is  hard  to  resist  when  you  long  to  know  what  is  OB 
the  other  side  of  it, — I  always  found  it  so  I " 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


Mt 


"  1  dare  say  you  did  !  But  how  does  she  look  ?  '  broke 
in  Ang^lique,  impatiently  stamping  her  dainty  foot  on  the 
floor. 

"  Oh,  so  pale  my  Lady  I  but  her  face  is  the  loveliest  I 
ever  saw, — almost,"  added  she,  with  an  after-thought,  "but 
so  sad  1  she  looks  like  tlie  twin  sister  of  the  blessed 
Madonna  in  the  Seminary  Chapel,  my  Lady." 

"  Was  she  at  her  devotions,  Fanchon  ? " 

"  I  think  not,  my  Lady ;  she  was  reading  a  letter  which 
she  had  just  received  from  the  Intendant." 

Angdiique's  eyes  were  now  ablaze.  She  conjectured  at 
once  that  Caroline  was  corresponding  with  Bigot,  and  that 
the  letter  brought  to  the  Intendant  by  Master  Pothier  was  in 
reply  to  one  from  him.  '*  But  how  do  you  know  the  letter 
she  was  reading  was  from  the  Intendant.^  It  could  not 
be  I "  Angelique's  eyebrows  contracted  angrily,  and  a 
dark  shadow  passed  over  her  face.  She  said.  "  It  could 
not  be,"  but  she  felt  it  could  be,  and  was. 

"Oh,  but  it  was  from  the  Intendant,  my  Lady  !  I  heard 
her  repeat  his  name,  and  pray  God  to  bless  Fran9ois  Bigot 
for  h^s  kind  words.  That  is  the  Intendant's  name,  is  it 
no*"  my  Lidy  ? " 

'  To  be  sure  it  is  !  I  should  not  have  doubted  you, 
Fanchon  !  but  could  you  gather  the  purport  of  that  letter  ? 
Speak  truly,  Fanchon,  and  I  will  reward  you  splendidly. 
What  think  you  it  was  about  ?  "  , ^  .'.^-w.    ^^  -  -^ii 

"  I  did  more  than  gather  the  purport  of  it,  my  Lady ; 
I  have  got  the  letter  itself ! '"  Angdlique  sprang  up 
eagerly,  as  if  to  embrace  Fanchon.  "  I  happened,  in  my 
eagerness,  to  jar  the  door ;  the  lady  imagining  someone  was 
coming,  rose  suddenly,  and  left  the  room.  In  her  haste 
she  dropped  the  letter  on  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up ;  I 
thought  no  harm,  as  I  was  determined  to  leave  Dame 
Tremblay  to  day.  Would  my  Lady  like  to  read  the  letter  ?  '* 

Ang^lique  fairly  sprang  at  the  offer.  "  You  have  got 
the  letter,  Fanchon  }  Let  me  see  it  instantly  !  How  c(m- 
siderate  of  you  to  bring  it!  I  will  give  you  this  ring 
for  that  letter  !  "  She  pulled  a  ring  off  her  finger,  and 
seizing  Fanchon's  hand,  put  it  on  hers.  Fanchon  was  en- 
chanted ;  she  admired  the  ring,  as  she  turned  it  round  and 
round  her  finger, 

"  I  am  infinitely  obliged,  my  Lady,  for  your  gift.  It  is 
worth  a  million  such  letters,"  said  she. 

16 


w: 


ft' 


IN 


t43 


r//£  CUIEN  D'OR. 


"  The  letter  outweighs  a  million  rings,"  replied  Ang< 
lique,  as  she  toie  it  open  violently,  and  sat  down  to  read. 

The  first  words  slrurk  her  like  a  stone. 

"  Dear  Caroline :  "  It  was  written  in  the  bold  hand  ol 
the  Intendant,  which  Ang«51ique  knew  very  well.  "  You 
have  suffered  too  much  for  my  sake,  but  I  am  neither  unfee! 
ing  nor  ungrateful.  I  have  news  for  you  !  Your  father  has 
gone  to  France  in  search  of  you !  No  one  suspects  you 
to  be  here.  Remain  patiently  where  you  are  at  present, 
and  in  the  utmost  secresy,  or  there  will  be  a  storm  that 
may  upset  us  both.  Try  to  be  happy,  and  let  not  the 
sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen,  grow  dim  with  needless 
regrets.  Better  and  brighter  days  will  surely  come.  Mean- 
while, pray,  pray!  my  Caroline  ;  it  will  do  you  good,  and 
perhaps  make  me  more  worthy  of  the  love  which  I  know  is 
wholly  mine.  Adieu,  Francois." 

A  ngelique  devoured  rather  than  read  the  letter.  She  had 
no  sooner  perused  it  than  she  tore  it  up  in  a  paroxysm  of 
fur}',  scattering  its  pieces  like  snow-flakes  over  the  floor, 
and  stamping  on  them  with  her  firm  foot  as  if  she  would 
tread  them  into  annihilation. 

Fanchon  was  not  unaccustomed  to  exhibitions  of  fem- 
inine wrath  ;  but  she  was  fairly  frightened  at  the  terrible 
rage  that  shook  Angdlique  from  head  to  foot. 

"Fanchon!  did  you  read  that  letter .»'" demanded  she, 
turning  suddenly  upon  the  trembling  maid.  The  girl  saw 
her  mistress'  cheeks  twitch  with  passion,  and  her  hands 
clench  as  if  she  would  strike  her,  if  she  answered  yes. 

"hrinking  with  fear ;  Fanchon  replied  faintly  "  No,  my 
Lady,  I  cannot  read." 

"  And  you  have  allowed  no  other  person  to  read  it  ? " 

"  No,  my  Lady ;  I  was  afraid  to  show  the  letter  to  any 
one  ;  you  know,  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  it !  " 

"Was  no  inquiry  made  about  it?  "  Ang^lique  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder,  who  trembled  from  head  to 
fool. 

"  Yes,  my  Lady ;  Dame  Tremblay  turned  the  Chateau 
ups'.de 'down,  looking  for  it,  but  I  dared  not  tell  her  I  had 

"  I  think  you  speak  truth,  Fanchon !  "  replied  Angd- 
lique,  getting  somewhat  over  her  passion,  but  her  bosom 
still  heaved  like  the  ocean  after  a  storm.  "  And  now  mind 
what  I  say  1 "  Her  hand  pressed  heavily  on  the  girl's  shoul- 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


•43 


der,  while  she  gave  her  a  look  that  seemed  to  fieeze  the 
ver}'  marrow  in  her  bones. 

"  You  know  a  secret  about  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir, 
Fanchon,  and  one  about  me,  too  !  If  you  ever  speak  of 
either,  to  man  or  woman,  or  even  to  yourself,  I  will  cut  the 
tongue  out  of  your  mouth,  and  nail  it  to  that  door-post  1 
Mind  my  words,  Fanchon !  I  never  fail  to  do  what  T 
threaten."  '  '  ; 

"  Oh,  only  do  not  look  so  at  me,  my  Lady ! "  replied  poor 
Fanchon,  perspiring  with  fear.  "  I  am  sure  I  never  shall 
speak  of  it.  1  swear  by  our  Blessed  Lady  of  Ste.  Foye  I  I 
will  never  breathe  to  mortal  that  I  gave  you  that  letter." 

"  That  will  do  ! "  replied  Angdlique,  throwing  herself 
down  in  her  great  chair.  "  And  now,  you  may  go  to  Li- 
zette  ;  she  will  attend  to  you.     But,  remember/" 

The  frightened  girl  did  not  wait  for  another  command  to 
go.  Angelique  held  up  her  finger,  which,  to  Fanchon, 
looked  terrible  as  a  poniard.  She  hurried  down  to  the 
servants'  hall,  with  a  secret  held  fast  between  her  teeth,  for 
once  in  her  life ;  and  she  trembled  at  the  very  thought  of 
ever  letting  it  escape.  v    <    •; 

Angdlique  sat  with  her  hands  on  her  temples,  staring 
upon  the  fire  that  flared  and  flickered  in  the  deep  fire- 
place. She  had  seen  a  wild,  wicked  vision  there  once 
before.  It  came  again,  as  things  evil  never  fail  to  come 
again  at  our  bidding.  Good  may  delay,  but  evil  never 
waits.  The  red  fire  turned  itself  into  shapes  of  lurid  dens 
and  caverns,  changing  from  horror  to  horror,  until  her  crea- 
tive fancy  formed  them  into  the  secret  chamber  of  Beau- 
manoir, with  its  one  fair,  solitary  inmate — her  rival  for  the 
hand  of  the  Intendant,  her  fortunate  rival,  if  she  might 
believe  the  letter  brought  to  her  so  strangely.  Angelique 
looked  fiercely  at  the  fragments  of  it  lying  upon  the  carpet, 
and  wished  she  had  not  destroyed  it ;  but  every  word  of 
i*;  was  stamped  upon  her  memory,  as  if  branded  with  a 
hot  iron. 

"  I  see  it  all,  now  I  "  exclaimed  she  :  "  Bigot's  falseness, 
and  her  shameless  effrontery  in  seeking  him  in  his  very 
house.  But  it  shall  not  be  !  "  Angelique's  voice  was  like 
the  cry  of  a  wounded  panther,  tearing  at  the  arrow  which 
has  pierced  his  flank.  "  Is  Angelique  des  Meloises  to  be 
humiliated  by  that  woman  ?  Never  !  But  my  bright 
dreams  will  have  no  fulfilment,  so  long  as  she  ives  at  Beau- 
manoir,— so  long  as  she  liv^s  anywhere ! " 


•44 


THB  CHIEN  D'CP.. 


p- 1' 


I'll.' 

Ilk... 


M  u 


\\ 


If  1  \  i.\ 

•"  k  \  A  ■•■ 


■Si 


She  sat  still  toi  awhile,  gazing  into  the  fire  ;  and  the  id 
cret  chamber  of  Beaumanoir  again  formed  itself  before 
her  vision.  She  sprang  up,  touched  by  the  hand  of  her 
good  angel,  perhaps,  and  for  the  last  timt.  "  Satan  whis» 
pers  it  again  in  my  car !  "  cried  she.  "  Ste.  Marie  1  I  am 
not  so  wicked  as  that  I  Last  night  the  thought  came  to 
me  in  the  dark.  I  shook  it  ofT  at  dawn  of  day.  To-night 
it  comes  again  ;  and  I  let  it  touch  me  like  a  lover,  and  I 
neither  withdraw  my  hand  nor  tremble !  To-morrow  it 
will  return  for  the  last  time,  and  stay  with  mc  !  and  I  shall 
let  it  sleep  on  my  pillow  !  The  babe  of  sin  will  have  been 
born,  and  waxed  to  a  full  Demon,  and  I  shall  yield  myself  up 
to  his  embraces !  O  Bigot,  Bigot !  what  have  you  not  done  ? 
C^esf  Infante  d  voiis  !  Cest  la  f ante  a  vous  /  She  repeated 
this  exclamation  several  times,  as  if,  by  accusing  Bigot, 
she  excused  her  own  evil  imaginings,  and  cast  the  blame 
of  them  upon  him.  She  seemed  drawn  down  into  a  vor- 
tex, from  which  there  was  no  escape.  She  gave  herself  up 
to  its  drift,  in  a  sort  of  passionate  abandonment  The 
death  or  the  banishment  of  Caroline  were  the  only  alter- 
natives she  could  contemplate.  "  The  sweetest  eyes  were 
ever  seen ! "  "  Bigot's  foolish  words,"  thought  she  ;  "  and 
the  influence  of  those  eyes  mifst  be  killed,  if  Angelique 
des  Meloisos  is  ever  to  mount  the  lofty  chariot  of  her 
ambition." 

"  Other  women,"  she  thought  bitterly,  "  would  abandon 
greatness  for  love,  and  in  the  arms  of  a  faithful  lover,  like 
Le  Gardeur,  find  a  compensation  for  the  slights  of  the  In- 
tendant  I  " 

But  Angelique  was  not  like  other  women.  She  was 
born  to  conquer  men, — not  to  yield  to  them.  The  steps 
of  a  throne  glittered  in  her  wild  fancy,  and  she  would  not 
lose  the  game  of  her  life  because  she  had  missed  the  first 
throw.  Bigot  was  false  to  her,  but  he  was  still  worth  the 
winning,  for  all  the  reasons  which  made  her  first  listen  to 
him.  She  had  no  love  for  him, — not  a  spark  I  But  his  name, 
his  rank,  his  wealth,  his  influence  at  Court,  and  a  future 
career  of  glory  there, — these  things  she  had  regarded  as  her 
own,  by  right  of  her  beauty  and  skill  in  ruling  men  !  **  No 
rival  shall  ever  boast  :he  has  conquered  Angelique  des 
Meloises!"  cried  she,  ci  inching  her  hands.  And  thus  it 
was  in  this  crisis  of  her  tcitc,  the  love  of  Le  Gardeur  was 
blown  like  a  feather  before  the  breath  of  her  passionate 


'.!J 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  BUTSEALD  IN  VAIN, 


n% 


selfishness.  The  weights  of  tj^old  pulled  her  down  to  the 
Nadir.  Ang^lique's  final  resolution  was  irrevocably  taken, 
before  her  eager,  hopeful  lover  appeared  in  answer  to 
her  summons  recalling  him  from  the  festival  of  Belmont 


•^  r  fc 


t  I  v."*' 


•Ji.- 


'w-  ^5,:  'i  ':  i.rrft^  jf'  Urr 


■pC'^„,  1    ■-..      .M 


■i:,.  .i     ., 


■t     ]■■"}' I  i'.  V  ■>''■!       ■' 


•J'-"  ; 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


(1. 1 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  BUT  SEAL  D  IN  VAIN. 


She  sat  waiting  Le  Gardeur's  arrival,  and  the  thought 
of  him  began  to  assert  its  influence  as  the  antidote  of  the 
poisonous  stuff  she  had  taken  into  her  imagination.  His 
presence  so  handsome,  his  manner  so  kind,  his  love  so 
undoubted,  carried  her  into  a  region  of  intense  satisfaction, 
Angdlique  never  thought  so  honestly  well  of  herself  as 
when  recounting  the  marks  of  affection  bestowed  upon  her 
by  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny.  "  His  love  is  a  treasure 
for  any  woman  tc  possess,  and  he  has  given  it  all  to  me  I " 
said  she  to  herself.  "  There  are  women  who  value  them- 
selves wholly  by  the  value  placed  upon  them  by  others  ; 
but  I  value  others  by  the  measure  of  myself.  I  love  Le 
Gardeur ;  and  what  I  love  I  do  not  mean  to  lose !  '*  added 
she,  with  an  inconsequence  that  fitted  ill  with  her  resolu- 
tion regarding  the  Intendant.  But  Angelique  was  one  who 
reconciled  to  herself  all  professions,  however  opposite  or 
however  incongruous. 

A  hasty  knock  at  the  door  of  the  mansion,  followed  by 
the  quick,  well-known  step  up  the  broad  stair,  brought  Le 
Gardeur  into  her  presence.  He  looked  flushed  and  dis- 
ordered, as  he  took  her  eagerly  extended  hand,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips.    Tja     .      - 

Her  whole  aspect  underwent  a  transformation  in  the 
presence  of  her  lover.  She  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see 
him.  Without  letting  go  his  hand,  she  led  him  to  the  sofa, 
and  sat  down  by  him.  Other  men  had  the  semblance  of  her 
graciousness  and  a  perfect  imitation  it  was  too ;  but  he 
alone  had  the  reality  of  her  affection.  <^, 

"  Oh,  Le  Gardeur  ! "  exclaime  i  she,  looking  him  through 
and  through,  and  detecting  no  flaw  in  his  honest  admira 


t46 


THE  CHIEN  DOR, 


3- 


Xi 


t 

I J  • 

It-  <t  ^ 


tion.  "  Can  vou  forgive  me,  for  asking  you  (o  come  and 
see  me  to-night  ?  and  for  absolutely  no  reason  I  None  in 
the  world,  Le  Gardeur  !  but  that  I  longed  to  see  youl  I 
was  jealous  of  Belmont  for  drawing  you  away  from  the 
Maison  des  Meloises  to  night  I  " 

"  And  what  better  reason  could  I  have  in  the  world 
than  that  you  were  longing  to  see  me,  Ang^lique  ?  I  think 
I  should  leave  the  gate  of  heaven  itself  if  you  called  me 
back,  darling !  Your  presence  for  a  minute  is  more  to 
me  than  hours  of  festivity  at  Belmont  or  the  company  of 
any  other  woman  in  the  world." 

Angdlique  was  not  insensible  to  the  devotion  of  Le 
Gardeur.  Her  feelings  were  touched,  and  never  slow  in 
finding  an  interpretation  for  them,  she  raised  his  hand 
quickly  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  it.  "I  had  no  motive  in 
sending  for  you  but  to  see  you,  Le  Gardeur  ! "  said  she, 
'*  will  that  content  you }     If  it  wont  — " 

"This  shall,"  replied  he,  kissing  her  cheek — which  she 
was  far  from  averting  or  resenting."  •       t 

"  That  is  so  like  you,  Le  Gardeur ! "  replied  she,  "  to 
take  before  it  is  given  !"  She  stopped — "  What  was  I  going 
to  say  ?  "  added  she.  "  It  was  given  I  and  my  contentment 
is  perfect  to  have  you  here  by  my  side !"  If  her  thoughts 
reverted  at  this  moment  to  the  Intendant,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  repulsion  ;  and  as  she  looked  fondly  on  the  face 
of  Le  Gardeur,  she  could  not  help  contrasting  his  hand- 
some looks  with  the  hard,  swarthy  features  of  Bigot. 

"  I  wish  my  contentment  were  perfect,  Ang^lique  ;  but 
it  is  in  your  power  to  make  it  so — will  you  1  Why  keep  me 
forever  on  the  threshold  of  my  happiness  or  of  my  des- 
pair whichever  you  shall  decree  ?  I  have  spoken  to  Amelie 
to-night  of  you  I "    f  rf     "    ■';  ,      ,  *   ,.       »  ., 

"  Oh,  do  not  press  me,  Le  Gardeur,"  exclaimed  she, 
violently  agitated,  anxious  to  evade  the  question  she  saw 
burning  on  his  lips  and  distrustful  of  her  own  power  to 
refuse,  "  not  now !  not  to-night !  another  day,  you  shall  know 
how  much  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur  !  Why  will  not  men  con- 
tent themselves  with  knowing  we  love  them,  without  strip- 
ping our  favors  of  all  grace  by  making  them  duties  ?  and 
in  the  end,  destroying  our  love  by  marrying  us?  "  A  flash 
of  her  natural  archness  came  over  her  face  as  she  said 
thts. 

"  That  would  not  be  your  case  nor  mine,  Ang^lique," 


5BALS  OF  LOVE,  BUT  SE4VD  IN  VA/N. 


M7 


e, 


replierl  he,  somewhat  puzzled  at  her  strange  speech.  But 
she  rose  up  suddenly  without  replying,  and  walked  to  « 
buffet,  where  stood  a  silver  salver  full  of  refresiiments.  "  I 
suppose  you  have  feasted  so  magnificently  at  Ik'lmont  thai 
you  will  not  care  for  my  humble  hospitalities,"  said  she, 
offering  him  a  cup  of  rare  wine,  a  recent  gift  of  the  Intend- 
ant,  which  she  did  not  mention  however.  "  You  have  not 
told  me  a  word  yet,  of  the  grand  party  at  Belmont  I  Pierre 
Philibert  has  been  highly  honored  by  the  Honnttcs  gms^  I 
am  sure  I " 

"  And  merits  all  the  honor  he  receives  !  why  were  you 
not  there  too,  Angtflique  ?  Pierre  would  have  been  delight- 
ed," replied  he,  ever  ready  to  defend  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  And  I  too  I  but  I  feared  to  be  disloyal  to  the  Frip- 
onne  ! "  said  she,  half  nvjckingly.  "  I  am  a  partner  in  the 
Grand  Company,  you  know,  Le  Gardeur  1  But  I  confess 
Pierre  Philibert  is  the  handsomest  man — except  one,  in 
New  France.  I  own  to  that,  I  (.iiought  io  pique  Am(51ie 
one  day,  by  telling  her  so,  but  oi^  the  r  >.itrary,  I  pleased 
her  beyond  measure  !  She  agreed  witliuut  excepting  even 
the  one  I" 

"  Am^lie  told  me  your  good  opinions  of  Pierre,  and  I 
thanked  you  for  it !  "  said  he,  taking  her  hand  "  And  now, 
darling,  since  you  cannot  with  wine,  words  nor  winsomeness 
diveit  me  from  my  purpose  in  making  you  declare  what 
you  think  of  me  also,  let  me  tell  you  I  have  promised 
Am^lie  to  bring  her  your  answer  to-night  I  " 

The  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur  shone  with  a  light  of  loyal 
affection.  Angdlique  saw  there  was  no  escaping  a  declara- 
tion. She  sat  irresolute  and  trembling,  with  one  hand 
resting  on  his  arm  and  the  other  held  up,  deprecatingly.  It 
was  a  piece  of  actin.c  -:ie  had  rehearsed  to  herself  for 
this  foreseen  occasion.  But  her  tongue,  usually  so  nimble 
and  free,  faltered  for  once  in  the  rush  of  emotions  that 
well  nigh  overpowered  her.  To  become  the  honored  wife 
of  Le  Gardeur  do  Repentigny,  the  sister  of  the  beauteous 
Am^lie,  the  niece  of  the  noble  Lady  de  "iTilly,  was  a  piece 
of  fortune  to  have  satisfied  until  recently,  both  her  heart 
and  her  ambition  1  But  now  Ang^lique  was  the  dupe  of 
dreams  and  fancies.  The  Koyal  Intendant  was  at  her 
feet.  France  and  its  courtly  sp  'endors  and  court  intrigues 
opened  vistas  of  grandeur  to  her  aspiring  and  unscrupu  • 
lous  ambition.  She  could  not  forego  them,  and  would  not  f 


19, 


248 


r/f£  CmEt'  D'OR, 


She  knew  Ma/,  all  the  time  her  heart  was  mehing  beneath 
the  passionate  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Amdlie  and  promised  to  take  her  your 
answer  to-night,"  said  he  in  a  tone  that  thrilled  every  fibre 
of  her  better  nature.  "  She  is  ready  to  embrace  y*u  as 
her  sister.  Will  you  be  my  wife,  Angdlique?"    ts  rg<  yr  is*i 

Ang^lique  sat  silent ;  she  dared  not  look  up  at  him. 
If  «5he  had,  she  knew  her  hard  resolution  would  melt.  She 
felt  his  gaze  upon  her,  without  seeing  it.  She  grew  pale 
and  tried  to  answer,  no  ?  but  could  not,  and  she  would  not 


answer,  yes 


Had  Ang(3lique  looked  up  for  one  moment  in  those 
loving  eyes  of  his  which  of  all  the  world  possessed  a  man's 
power  over  her,  all  might  have  ended  in  kisses  and  tears  of 
joy,  and  this  tragical  history  had  had  no  foundation. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  !  She  did  not  look  up,  but  her 
averted  eyes  fell  down  upon  the  glowing  hearth.  The  vis- 
ion she  had  so  wickedly  revelled  in,  flashed  again  upon  her 
at  this  supreme  moment.  She  saw  in  a  panorama  of  a  few 
seconds,  the  gilded  halls  of  Versailles  pass  before  her,  and 
with  the  vision  came  the  old  temptation.  Wicked  imagin- 
ings once  admitted  as  guests,  enter  afterwards  unbidden. 
They  sit  down  familiarly  on  our  hearths  as  masters  in  our 
house,  making  us  their  slaves  for  ever.      r.  >       .  ; 

"  Ang^lique !  "  repeated  he,  in  a  tone  full  of  pas- 
sionate entreaty,  "  will  you  be  my  wife,  loved  as  no  wo- 
man ever  was  ;  loved  as  alone  Le  Gardeur  de  Rcpentigny 
can  love  you  ? " 

She  knew  that.  As  she  weakened  under  his  pleading, 
and  grasped  both  his  hands  tight  in  hers,  she  strove  to 
frame  a  reply  which  should  say  yes  while  it  meant  no, 
and  say  no  which  he  should  interpret  yes. 

"  All  New  France  will  honor  you  as  the  Chatelaine  de 
Repentigny  !  There  will  be  none  higher,  as  there  will  be 
none  fairer  than  my  bride — ! "  Poor  Le  Gardeur  !  He  had 
a  dim  suspicion  that  Ang^lique  was  looking  to  France  as  a 
fitting  theatre  for  her  beauty  and  talents.        •     ^  1*  .^  ><^.. 

She  still  sat  mute,  and  grew  paler  every  moment.  Words 
formed  themselves  upon  her  lips,  but  she  feared  to  say 
them,  so  terrible  was  the  earnestness  of  this  man's  love, 
and  no  less  vivid  the  consciousness  of  her  own.  Her  face 
assumed  the  hardness  of  marble,  pale  as  Parian  and  as 
rigid  \  a  trembling  of  her  white  lips  showed  the  strife  going 


^    SEALS  OF  LOVE  BUT  SEAVD  i^T  VAm. 


149 


Oil  within  her,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  that  he 
might  not  see  the  tears  she  felt  quivering  under  th^  full 
lids,  but  she  remained  mute. 

"  Ang^lique  ! "  exclaimed  he,  divining  her  unexpressed 
refusal;  "  why  do  you  turn  away  from  me  ?  You  surely 
do  not  reject  me  ?  But  I  am  mad  to  think  it  I  Speak,  dar- 
ling !  One  word,  one  sign,  one  look  from  those  dear  eyes, 
in  consent  to  be  the  wife  of  Le  Gardeur,  will  bring  lUe'i 
happiness  to  us  both  ! "  He  took  her  hand,  and  drew  it 
gently  from  her  eyes  anu  kissed  it,  but  she  still  averted 
her  gaze  from  him ;  she  could  not  look  at  him  \  but  the 
words  dropped  slowly  and  feebly,  from  her  lips  in  response 
to  his  appeal : — 

"  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry  you  I " 
said  she.  She  could  not  utter  more,  but  her  hand  grasped 
his  with  a  fierce  pressure,  as  if  wanting  to  hold  him  fast,  in 
the  very  moment  of  refusal. 

He  started  back,  as  if  touched  by  fire.  "  You  love  me, 
but  will  not  marry  me  !  Angdlique  !  what  mystery  is 
this  ?  But  you  are  only  trying  me  !  A  thousand  thanks  for 
your  love  ;  the  other  is  but  a  jest ! — a  good  jest,  which  I  will 
laugh  at !  "  And  Le  Gardeur  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a 
sad  failure,  for  he  saw  she  did  not  join  in  his  effort  at  mer- 
riment,  but  looked  pale  and  trembling,  as  if  ready  to 
faint. 

She  laid  her  hands  upon  his  heavily  and  sadly.  He 
felt  her  refusal  in  the  very  touch.  It  was  like  cold  lead. 
"  Do  not  laugh,  Le  Gardeur,  I  cannot  laugh  over  it ;  this  is 
no  jest,  but  mortal  earnest !  What  I  say  I  mean  I  I  love 
you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry  you  I " 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  as  if  to  mark  the  emphasis 
she  could  not  speak.  He  felt  it  like  the  drawing  of  his 
heart  strings. 

She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him  now,  as  if  to  look 
whether  love  of  her  was  extinguished  in  him  by  her  refusal. 
"  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur, — ^you  know  I  do  !  But  I  will  not 
— T  cannot — marry  you,  now  !  "  repeated  she. 

"  Now  I  "  he  caught  at  the  straw  like  a  drowning  swim- 
mer in  a  whirlpool.  "  Now  ?  I  said  not  now  1  but  when 
you  please,  Angdlique  !  You  are  worth  a  man's  waiting  his 
life  for!"  !    v>       .  .:    -     J; 

"  No  1  Le  Gardeur,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  not  worth  your 
waiting  for  ;  it  cannot  be,  as  I  once  hoped  it  might  be  \  but 


2$0 


THE  CHI  END' OR. 


'.,  V 


love  you  I  do  and  ever  shall  1 "  and  the  false,  fair  woman 
kissed  him  fatuously.  "I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will 
not  marry  you  ! " 

"You  do  not  surely  mean  it,  Angdlique  !"  exclaimed  he; 
you  will  not  give  me  death  instead  of  life  ?  You  cannot  be 
so  false  to  your  own  heart,  so  cruel  to  mine  ?  See,  Angrfli- 
que  1  My  saintly  sister  Amdlie  believed  in  your  love,  and 
sent  these  flowers  to  place  in  your  hair  when  you  had  con- 
sented to  be  my  wife,  her  sister  ;  you  will  not  refuse  them, 
Ang^lique  ? " 

He  raised  his  hand  to  place  the  garland  upon  her  head, 
but  Angt^lique  turned  quickly,  and  they  fell  at  her  feet. 
"  Amdlie's  gifts  are  not  for  me,  Le  Gardeur  !  I  do  not  merit 
them  !  I  confess  my  fault ;  I  am,  I  know,  false  to  my  own 
heart,  and  cruel  to  yours.  Despise  me, — kill  me  for  it  if  you 
will,  Le  Gardeur !  better  you  did  kill  me,  perhaps  !  but  I 
cannot  lie  to  you,  as  I  can  to  other  men  !  Ask  mc  not  to 
change  my  resolution,  for  I  neither  can  nor  will."  She 
spoke  with  impassioned  energy,  as  if  fortifying  her  refusal 
by  the  reiteration  of  it. 

"  It  is  past  comprehension  !  "  was  all  he  could  say,  be- 
wildered at  her  words,  thus  dislocated  from  all  their  natural 
sequence  of  association.  "  Love  me  and  not  marry  me ! 
That  means  she  will  marry  another !  "  thought  he,  with  a 
jealous  pang.  "  Tell  me,  Ang^lique  !  "  continued  he,  after 
several  moments  of  puzzled  silence,  "is  there  some  inscrut- 
able reason  that  makes  you  koep  mv  love  and  reject  my 
hand  ? " 

"  No  reason,  Le  Gardeur !  It  is  mad  unreason, — I  feel 
that — but  it  is  no  less  true.  I  love  you,  but  I  will  not 
many  you  !  "  She  spoke  with  more  resolution  now.  The 
first  plunge  was  over,  and,  with  it,  her  fear  and  trembling 
as  she  sat  on  the  brink. 

The  iteration  drove  him  beside  himself.  He  seized  her 
hands,  and  exclaimed  with  vehemence  :  "  There  is  a  man— 
a  rival — a  more  fortunate  lover — behind  all  this,  Ang^lique 
cies  Meloises  !  It  is  not  yourself  that  speaks,  but  one  that 
prompts  you.  You  have  given  your  love  to  another,  and 
discarded  me  I     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  neither  discarded  you  nor  loved  another ! " 
Ang^lique  equivocated  She  played  her  soul  away  at  this 
moment  with  the  mental  reservation  that  she  had  not  yet 
done,  what  she  had  resolved  to  do  upon  the  first  oppor 
tunity, — accept  the  hand  of  the  Intendant  Bigot. 


.1  %  ■' 


SEALS  OF  LOVE  BUT  SEAVD  IN  VAIN. 


»5» 


1  •*  It  is  well  for  that  other  man,  if  there  be  one  !  "  Le 
Gardeur  rose  and  walked  angrily  across  the  room,  two  or 
three  limes.  Ang^lique  was  playing  a  ^ame  of  chess  with 
Satan  for  her  soul,  and  felt  she  was  losing  it. 

"There  was  a  sphinx  in  olden  times,"  said  he,  "that 
propounded  a  riddle,  and  he  who  failed  to  solve  it  had  to 
die  I  Your  riddle  will  be  the  death  of  me,  for  I  cannot 
solve  it,  Angdlique !  "  4  ^mv 

"  Do  not  try  to  solve  it,  dear  Le  Gardeur !  F  member 
that  when  her  riddle  was  solved,  the  sphinx  threw  herself 
into  the  sea.  I  doubt  that  may  be  my  fate  !  But  you  are 
still  my  friend,  Le  Gardeur !  "  added  she,  seating  herself 
again  by  his  side,  in  her  old  fond  coquettish  manner. 
"See  these  flowers  of  Am^lie's,  which  I  did  not  place  in 
my  hair;  I  treasure  them  in  my  bosom  !  "  She  gathered 
them  up  as  she  spoke,  kissed  them,  and  placed  them  in  her 
bosom.  "  You  are  still  my  friend,  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  Her 
eyes  turned  upon  him  with  the  old  look  she  could  so  well 
assume. 

"  I  am  more  than  a  thousand  friends,  Ang^lique  !  " 
replied  he;  "but  I  shall  curse  myself  that  I  can  remain  so, 
and  see  you  the  wife  of  another  !  " 

The  very  thought  drove  him  to  frenzy.  He  dashed  her 
hand  away,  and  sprang  up  towards  the  door,  but  turned 
suddenly  round.  "That  curse  was  not  for  you,  Ang^- 
lique  1  "  said  he,  pale  and  agitated  ;  "  it  was  for  myself, 
for  ever  believing  in  the  empty  love  you  professed  for  me. 
Good  bye  !  Be  happy  !  As  for  me,  the  light  goes  out  of 
my  life,  Angelique,  from  this  day  forth." 

"Oh  stop,  stop,  Le  Gardeur!  do  not  leave  n>e  so ! " 
She  rose  and  endeavored  to  restrain  him,  but  he  broke 
from  her,  and,  without  adieu  or  further  parley,  ruihed  out 
bareheaded  into  the  street.  She  ran  to  the  balcony  to  call 
him  back,  and,  leaning  far  over  it,  cried  out :  "  Le  Gardeur  I 
Le  Gardeur  I "  That  voice  would  have  called  him  from 
the  dead,  could  he  have  heard  it.  But  he  was  already  lost 
in  the  darkness.  A  few  rapid  steps  resounded  on  the  jiis- 
tant  pavement,  and  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  lost  to 
her  for  ever  !      '  •  ..i  *? 

She  waited  long  on  the  balcony,  looking  over  it  for  a 
chance  of  hearing  his  returning  steps  ;  but  none  came.  It 
was  the  last  impulse  of  her  love  to  save  her,  but  it  was 
useless.     "  O   God  !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  mortal 


H 


«s« 


r//E  ClilEN  D'OR. 


If  1  ?  1  ■•: 


If  s 


agony,  **  he  is  gone  for  ever — my  Le  Gardcur !  my  one  true 
lover,  .ejected  by  my  own  madness ;  and  for  what  ?  "  She 
thought  for  what?  and  in  a  storm  of  passion,  teaiing  her 
golden  hair  over  her  face,  and  beating  her  breast  in  her 
rage,  she  exclaimed :  "  1  am  wicked,  unutterably  bad,  worse 
and  more  despicable  than  the  vilest  creature  that  crouches 
under  the  bushes  on  the  battiire  I  How  dared  I,  unwomanly 
that  I  am,  reject  the  hand  I  worship,  for  sake  of  a  hand  I 
should  Ic  the  in  the  very  act  of  accepting  it  ?  The  slave 
that  is  sold  in  the  market  is  better  than  I,  for  she  has  no 
choice;  whi'a  I  sell  myself  to  a  man  whom  I  already  hate, 
for  he  is  already  false  to  me !  The  wages  of  a  harlot 
were  /nore  honestly  earned  than  the  splendor  for  which  I 
barter  soul  and  body  to  this  Intendant !  " 

The  passionate  girl  threw  herself  upon  the  floor,  nor 
heeded  the  blood  that  oozed  from  her  head,  bruised  on  the 
hard  wood.  Her  mind  was  torn  by  a  thousand  wild  fan- 
cies. Sometimes  she  resolved  to  go  out  like  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  and  seek  her  beloved  in  the  city,  and  throw  herself 
at  his  feet,  making  him  a  royal  gift  of  all  he  claimed  of 
her. 

She  little  knew  her  own  wilful  heart.  She  had  seen 
the  world  bow  to  every  caprice  of  hers,  but  she  never  had 
one  principle  to  guide  her,  except  her  own  pleasure.  She 
was  now  like  a  goddess  of  earth,  fallen  in  an  effort  to 
reconcile  impossibilities  in  human  hearts,  and  became  the 
sport  of  the  powers  of  wickedness. 

She  lay  upon  the  floor,  senseless :  her  hands  in  a  violent 
clasp.  Her  glorious  hair,  torn  and  disordered,  lay  over  her 
like  the  royal  robe  of  a  queen  stricken  from  her  throne,  and 
lying  dead  upon  the  floor  of  her  palace. 

It  was  long  after  midnight,  in  the  cold  hours  of  the 
morning,  when  she  woke  from  her  swoon.  She  raised  her- 
self feebly  upon  her  elbow,  and  looked  dazedly  up  at  the 
cold,  unfeeling  stars,  that  go  on  shining  through  the  ages, 
making  no  sign  of  sympathy  with  human  griefs.  Perseus 
had  risen  to  his  meridian,  and  Algol,  her  natal  star,  al- 
ternately darkened  and  brightened,  as  if  it  were  the  scene 
of  some  fierce  conflict  of  the  powers  of  light  and  darkness, 
like  that  going  on  in  her  own  soul. 

Her  face  was  stained  with  hard  clots  of  blood,  as  she 
rose,  cramped  and  chilled  to  the  bone.  The  night  air  had 
blown  coldly  upon  her  through  the  open  lattice ;  but  she 


-...<?;■.". 


ii^^ 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 


•53 


would  not  summon  her  maid  to  her  assistance.  Without 
undressing  she  threw  herself  upon  a  couch,  and,  utterly 
worn  out  by  the  agitation  she  had  undergone,  slept  Car  into 
the  day. 


>:  -n 


-A  ■ 


■!<r'v;  *'  i; 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


-•V:7 


i 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 


■»'-tf?" 


Le  Gardeur  plunged  headlong  down  the  silent  street, 
neither  knowing  nor  caring  whither.  Half  mad  with  grief, 
half  with  resentment,  he  vented  curses  upon  himself,  upon 
Angelique,  upon  the  world,  and  looked  upon  Providence 
itself  as  in  league  with  the  evil  powers  to  thwart  his  happi- 
ness— not  seeing  that  his  happiness  ia  the  love  of  a  woman 
like  Angelique  was  a  house  built  on  sand,  which  the 
first  storm  of  life  would  sweep  away. 

"  Holla !  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  is  that  you  ? "  ex- 
claimed a  voice  in  the  night.  "  What  lucky  wind  blow9 
you  out  at  this  hour  ?  "  Le  Gardeur  stopped  and  recog- 
nized the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  "  Where  are  you  going  in 
such  a  desperate  hurry  ?  "  isr;  t 

"  To  the  devil ! "  replied  Le  Gardeur,  withdrawing  his 
hand  from  De  Pean's,  who  had  seized  it  with  an  amazing 
show  of  friendship.  "  It  is  the  only  road  left  open  to  me, 
and  I  am  going  to  march  down  it  like  'd  garde  du  corps  of 
Satan  !  Do  not  hold  me,  De  Pean  !  Let  go  my  arm  1 
I  am  going  to  the  devil,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Why,  Le  Gardeur,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  is  a  broad 
and  well  travelled  road — the  king's  highway,  in  fact.  I 
am  ^Toing  upon  it  myself,  as  fast  and  merrily  as  any  man 
ill  New  France." 

"  Well,  go  on  it,  then  !      March  either  before  or  after' 
me  ;  only  don't  go  with  me,   De  Pean !      I  am  taking  the 
shortest  cuts  to  get  to  the  end  of  it,  and  want  no  one  with 
me "      Le  Gardeur  walked  doggedly  on ;  but    De  Pean 
would  not  be  shook  off.  He  suspected  what  had  happened. 

"The  shortest  cut  I  know  is  by  the  Taverne  de 
Menut,  where  I  am  going  now,"  said  he,  "and  I  should 
like  your  ompany,  Le  Gardeur  1      Our  set  are  having  ^ 


•54 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR. 


^ala  night  of  it,  and  must  be  musical  as  tlic  frogs  of  Beau 
port  by  thif  hour !    Come  along  I  "     De  Pean  again  took 
m&  arm.     Ko  was  not  repelled  this  time. 

*'  I  don't  care  where  I  go,  De  Pean  !  "  replied  he,  for- 
getting his  dislike  to  this  man,  and  submitting  to  his  guid- 
ance. The  Taverne  de  Menut  was  just  the  place  for  him 
to  rush  into,  and  drown  his  disappointment  in  wine.  The 
two  moved  on  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes- 

"  Why,  Avhat  ails  you,  Le  Gard^ur!"'  asked  li/s  com- 
panion, as  tl  I  ey  walked  on  arm  in  ai>n.  "Ha  :^rtune 
frowneu  upon  the  cards  ?  or  your  n'3tn>:-,  pi  ved  .  tickle 
jade,  like  all  iier  sex  i'  " 

His  words  vvere  irrital  ing  enough  to  Le  Gardeur.  "  I^ook 
you,  De  Pean,"  said  lie,  stopping,  **  I  shall  quarrel  with 
you  if  you  repeat  such  remarks.  But  you  nici  \  n  j  mis- 
chiefj  I  dare  say,  although  i  would  not  sweav  it !  "  Le 
Gardeur  looked  savagely. 

De  Pean  saw  U  would  not  be  saiL  to  rub  Lhat  sore 

v:ain,     "  Fondve  me,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  said  he,  with  an  air 

of  syniprtthy,  well  assumed.     "I  meant  no  harm.    13ut  you 

are  suspicious  of  your  friends  to-night,  as  a  Turk  of  his 

harem." 

•  "  I  have  reason  to  be !  and  as  for  friends,  I  find  only 
such  friends  as  you,  De  Pean !  And  I  begin  to  think  the 
world  has  no  better  ! "  The  clock  of  the  Recollets  struck 
the  hour  as  they  passed  under  the  shadow  of  its  wall.  The 
brothers  of  St.  Francis  slept  quietly  on  their  peaceful  pil 
lows,  like  sea  birds  who  find  in  a  rocky  nook  a  refuge  from 
the  ocean  storms.  "  Do  you  think  the  Recollets  are  hap- 
py, De  Pean  ? "  asked  he,  turning  abruptly  to  his  compan- 
ion. 

*  Happy  as  oysters  at  high  water,  who  are  never  crossed 

in  love  except  of  their  dinner  !     But  that  is  neither  your 

luck  nor  mine,  Le  Gardeur ! "     De  Pean  was  itching  to 

draw  from  his  co  npanion  something  with  reference  to  what 

'had  passed  with  Ang^lique.  ^ 

"  Well,  I  would  rather  be  an  oyste**  than  a  man,  and 
rather  be  dead  than  either  1 "  was  the  reply  of  Le  Gardeur. 
**  How  soon,  think  you,  will  brandy  kill  a  man,  De  Pean  ? " 
asked  he,  abruptly  after  a  pause  ot  silence. 

"  It  will  never  kill  you,  Le  Gai'^?ur,  if  you  take  it  neat 
at  Mast<^r  Menut's.  It  will  r^'^tr  re  you  to  life,  vigor  and 
independence  of  man   and    voman,     I  take  mine  there 


THE  IfURRlED  QUESTIOM  OF  DESPAIR.         255 

when  I  am  hipped  as  you  are,  Le  Gardeur.  It 'is  a  specific 
for  ever)'  kind  of  ill  fortune — I  warrant  it  will  cure  and 
never  kill  you." 

They  crossed  the  Place  d'Armes.  Nothing  in  sight  was 
moving  except  the  sentries  who  paced  slowly  like  shadow* 
up  and  down  tiie  great  gateway  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

"  It  is  still  and  solemn  as  achurchyard  here,"  remarked 
De  Pe-in  ;  "  all  the  life  of  the  place  is  down  at  Menut's  I 
I  like  the  small  hours,"  added  he  as  the  chime  of  the 
Recollets  ceased.  "  They  are  easily  counted  and  pass 
quickly,  asleep  or  awake.  I'wo  o'clock  in  the  morning  is 
the  meridian  of  the  day  for  a  man  who  has  wit  to  wait  for 
it  at  Menut's  !  these  small  hours  are  all  that  are  worth 
reckoning  in  a  man's  life. !" 

Without  consenting  to  accompany  De  Pean,  Le  Gar- 
deur suffered  himself  to  be  led  by  him.  He  knew  the  com- 
pany that  awaited  him  there — the  wildest  and  most  disso- 
lute gallants  of  the  city  and  garrison  were  usually  assem- 
bled there  at  this  hour. 

The  famous  old  hostelry  was  kept  by  Master  Menut,  a 
burly  Breton,  who  prided  himself  on  keeping  everything 
full  and  plenty  about  his  house — tables  full,  tankards  full, 
guests  full  and  himself  very  full.  The  house  was  to-night 
lit  up  with  unusual  brilliance,  and  was  full  of  company — 
Cadet,  Varin,  Mercier,  and  a  crowd  of  the  friends  and  asso- 
ciates of  the  Grand  Company.  Gambling,  drinking  and 
conversing  in  the  loudest  strain  on  such  topics  as  interested 
their  cb^s,  were  the  amusements  of  the  night.  The  vilest 
thoughts  utlf^red  in  the  low  Argot  of  Paris  were  much  affected 
by  ther  They  felt  a  pleasure  in  this  sort  of  protest 
against  the  extreme  refinement  of  society,  just  as  the 
Collegians  of  Oxford,  trained  beyond  their  natural  capacity 
in  morals,  love  to  fall  into  slang,  and  like  Prince  Hal,  talk 
to  every  tinker  in  his  own  tongue. 

De  Pean  and  Le  Gardeur  were  welcomed  with  open* 
arms  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut.  A  dozen  brimming  glasses 
were  offered  them  on  every  side.  De  Pean  drank  mod- 
erately. *'  I  have  to  win  back  my  losses  of  last  night," 
said  he,  "  and  must  keep  my  head  clear."  Le  Gardeur,  how* 
ever,  refused  nothing  that  was  offered  him.  He  drank  with 
all,  and  drank  every  description  of  liquor.  He  was 
speedily  led  up  into  a  large,  well-furnished  room,  where 
tables  were  crowded  with  gentlemen   playing  cards  and 


i  : 


956 


THE  ClilE^t^OR, 


i 


\\^ 


V 

flip: 

■*;     ■■  i 


I  .  .' 
1  «( 

I.' 4 
-i 

,.  U    ' 

M  • 

k  * 
\  i  * 

I''    * 


If -r 


w 


dice  for  piles  of  paper  money  which  was  tossed  from  hand 
'  to  hand,  with  the  greatest  nonchalance  as  the  game  ended 
and  was  renewed. 

Le  Gardeur  plunged  headlong  into  the  flood  of  dissipa- 
tion. He  played,  drank,  talked  argot  and  cast  off  every 
shred  of  reserve.  He  doubled  his  stakes  and  threw  his 
dice  reckless  and  careless  whether  he  lost  or  won.  His 
voice  overbore  that  of  the  stoutest  of  the  revellers.  He 
embraced  De  Pean  as  his  friend,  who  returned  his  compli- 
ments by  declaring  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  to  be  the 
king  of  good  fellows,  "  who  had  the  strongest  head  to  carry 
wine  and  the  stoutest  heart  to  defy  dull  care  of  any  man 
in  Quebec." 

De  Pean  watched  with  malign  satisfaction  the  progress 
of  Le  Gardeur's  intoxication.  If  he  seemed  to  flag,  he 
challenged  him  afresh  to  drink  to  better  fortune ;  and 
when  he  lost  the  stakes,  to  drink  again  to  spite  ill  luck. 

But  let  a  veil  be  dropped  over  the  wild  doings  of  the 
Taverne  de  Menut.  Le  Gardeur  lay  insensible  at  last 
upon  the  floor,  where  he  would  have  remained  had  not 
some  of  the  servants  of  the  inn  who  knew  him  lifted  him 
up  compassionately,  and  placed  him  upon  a  couch,  where 
he  lay,  breathing  heavily  like  one  dying.  His  eyes 
were  fixed ;  his  mouth,  where  the  kisses  of  his  sister  stil- 
lingered,  was  partly  opened,  and  his  hands  were  clenched, 
rigid  as  a  statue's. 

"  He  is  ours  now, !  "  said.  De  Pean  to  Cadet.    "  He  will 
not  again  put  his  head  under  the  wing  of  the  Philiberts  !  " 

The  two  men  looked  at  him,  and  laughed  brutally. 

"  A  fair  lady  whom  you  know,  Cadet,  has  given  him 
liberty  to  drink  himself  to  death,  and  he  will  do  it." 

"  Who  is  that?     Ang^lique  .? "  asked  Cadet. 

"  Of  course  ;  who  else  ?  and  Le  Gardeur  won't  be  the 
first  or  last  man  she  has  put  under  stone  sheets,"  replied 
De  Pean,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Gloria  patri^  filioque^^  exclaimed  Cadet,  mockingly, 
"  The  honnites  gens  will  lose  their  trump  card.  How  did 
you  get  him  away  from  Belmont,  De  Pean  ?  " 

"  Oh  it  was  not  I ;  Angdlique  des  Meloiscs  set  the 
trap  and  whistled  the  call  that  brought  him,"  replied  De 

"  I  jke  her,  the  incomparable  witch  '  "  exclaimed  ^^adet^ 
with  a  hearty  laugh,    "  She  would  lare  the  very  devil  to 


i .  'f 


>' 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 


»57 


play  her  tricks  instead  of  his  own.     She  would  beat  Satan 
at  his  best  game  to  ruin  a  man." 

"  It  would  be  all  the  same,  C  idet,  I  fancy — Satan  01 
she  1     But  where  is  Bigot  ?     I  expected  him  here. 

"  Oh,  he  is  in  a  tantrum  to-night,  and  would  not  come. 
That  piece  of  his  at  Beaumanoir  is  a  thorn  in  his  flesh,  and 
a  snow-ball  on  'nis  spirits.  She  is  taming  him  I  By  St 
Cocufin  !  Bigot  loves  that  woman  1 " 

"  I  told  you  that  before.  Cadet ;  I  saw  it  a  month  ago» 
and  was  sure  of  it  on  that  night  when  he  would  not  bring 
her  up  to  show  her  to  us. 

*'  Such  a  fool,  De  Pean,  to  care  for  any  woman  !  What 
will  Bigot  do  with  her,  think  you  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Send  her  adrift  some  fine  day, 
I  suppose,  down  the  Riviere  du  Loup.  He  will,  if  he  is  a 
sensible  man.  He  dare  not  marry  any  woman  without 
license  from  La  Pompadour,  you  know.  The  jolly  fish- 
woman  holds  a  tight  rein  over  her  favorites.  Bigot  may 
keep  as  many  women  as'  Solomon — the  more  the  merrier ; 
but  woe  befalls  him  if  he  marries  without  La  Pompadour's 
consent.  I  They  say  she  dotes  herself  en  Bigot ;  that  is  the 
reason."  De  Pean  really  believed  that  was  the  reason  ; 
and  certainly  there  was  reason  for  suspecting  it. 

"  Cadet !  Cadet !  "  exclaimed  several  voices.  "  You 
are  fined  a  basket  of  champagne  for  leaving  the  table.'' 

"  I'll  pay  it,"  replied  he,  "  and  doulle  it ;  but  it  is  hot 
as  Tartarus  in  here.  I  feci  like  a  grJled  salmon."  And, 
indeed,  Cadet's  broad,  sensual  face  was  red  and  glowing  as 
a  harvest  moon.  He  walked  a  little  unsteady,  too,  and 
his  naturally  coarr>e  voice  sounded  thick,  but  his  hard 
brain  never  gave  way  beyond  a  certain  point  under  any 
quantity  of  liquor. 

"  I  am  going  to  get  some  fresh  air,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
walk  as  far  as  the  Fleur-de-Lys.  They  never  go  to  bed  at 
that  jolly  old  inn."  r^m-- 

"  I  will  go  with  you ! "  "  And  1 1 "  exclaimed  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  Come  on,  then ;  we  will  all  go  to  the  old  dog-hole, 
where  they  keep  the  best  brandy  in  Quebec.  It  is  smug- 
gled, of  course  ;  but  that  makes  it  all  the  better." 

Mine  host  of  the  Taverne  de  Menut  combatted  this 
opinion  of  the  goodne-ss  of  the  liquors  at  the  Fleur  de  Lys. 
"  His  brandf  ^ad   paid  the  king's  duties,  and  bore  the 


i.f 


t5S  TNM  CHIEN  D'CR. 

ftamp  of  the  Grand  Company/'  he  said ;  and  he  a|>> 
pealed  to  every  gentleman  present  on  the  goodness  of  hU 
liquors. 

Cadet  and  the  rest  took  another  round  of  it  to  please 
the  landlord,  and  sallied  out  with  no  little  noise  and  con- 
fusion. Some  of  ihem  struck  up  the  famous  song,  which 
beyond  all  cithers,  best  expressed  the  gay,  rollicking  spirit 
of  the  Frencli  naticn  and  of  tiie  times  of  the  old  regime: — 


Vr-:  V 


•   ;      t    :  - 

''-..f.y^■^>| 


Vive  Henri  Quatre ! 
Vive  le  Roi  vp.illant  I 
Cc  diable  k  quatre, 
A  le  triple  talent, 
Dc  bol'-e  tt  debattre, 
Ftd'  tuc  un  Tprt  galant! 


*   V- 


iS-'i  i 


When  the  noisy  party  arrived  at  the  Fleur  de  Lys,  they 
entered  without  ceremony  into  a  spacious  room — low,  with 
heavy  beams,  and  with  roughly  plastered  walls,  which  were 
stuck  over  with  proclamations  of  Governors  and  Inten- 
dants  and  dingy  ballads  brought  by  sailors  from  French 
ports. 

A  long  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  surrounded 
by  a  lot  of  fellows,  plainly  of  the  baser  sort — sailors,  boat- 
men, voyageurs — in  rough  clothes,  and  u.ques  red  or  bhie^ 
upon  their  heads.  Everyone  had  a  pipe  in  his  mc'th 
Some  were  talking  with  loose,  loquacious  tongues  ;  some 
were  singing ;  their  ugly,  jolly  visages — half  illumined 
by  the  light  of  tallow  candles,  stuck  in  iron  sconces  on  the 
wall — were  worthy  of  the  vulgar,  but  faithful  Dutch  pencils 
of  Schalken  ^nd  Teniers.  They  were  singing  a  song  as 
the  new  companj  came  in. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Master  Pothier,  with  a 
black  earthen  mug  of  Norman  cider  in  one  hand  and  a  pipe 
in  the  other.  His  budget  of  law  hung  on  a  peg  in  the 
corner,  as  quite  superfluous  at  a  free-and-easy  at  the  Fleur 
dc  Lys. 

Max  Crimean  and  blind  Bartemy  had  arrived  in  good 
time  for  the  eel-pie.  They  sat  one  on  each  side  of  Master 
Pothier,  full  as  ti<-ks,  and  merry  as  grigs ;  a  jolly  song  was 
in  progress  as  Cadet  entered.  > 

The  company  rose  and  bowed  to  the  gentlemen  who 
had  honored  them  with  a  call.  "  Pray  sit-down,  gentle- 
men^   take  our  chsiirs  I ''  exclaimed  Mastel  ]^othier,  offid- 


THE  IWKRIED  QUESTIOf/  OF  DESPAIR, 


*S9 


ously  o^eriug  his  lo  C.idei,  who  accepted  it,  as  well  as 
the  bl.i  inuj^,  of  which  he  drank  heartily,  declaring  "old 
Norman  cider  suited  his  taste  better  than  the  choicesi 
wine." 

"  We  are  your  most  liumble  servitors,  and  highly  esteem 
the  honor  of  your  visit,"  said  Master  Pothier,  as  he  refilled 
the  black  mug. 

"  Jolly  fellows !  "  replied  Cadet,  stretching  his  legs 
refreshingly,  "  this  does  look  comfortable.  "  Do  you 
drink  cider  because  you  like  it  or  because  you  cannot 
afford  better?" 

"There  is  nothing  better  than  Norman  cider,  except 
Cognac  brandy,"  replied  Master  Pothier,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear.  "  Norman  cider  is  fit  for  a  king,  and  with  a 
lining  of  brandy  is  drink  for  a  Pope!  It  will  make  a  man 
see  stars  at  noonday.    Won't  it,  Bartemy  ?  " 

"What!  old  turn-penny!  are  you  here ?"  cried  Cadet, 
recognizing  the  old  beggar  of  the  gate  of  the  Basse 
Ville. 

"Oyes,  your  honor !"  replied  Bartemy,  with  his  pro- 
fessional whine,  ^^ pour  T amour  de  DieuV^ 

"  Gad !  you  are  the  jolliest  beggar  I  know  out  of  the 
Friponne,"  replied  Cadet  throwing  him  an  ecu. 

"  He  is  not  a  jollier  beggar    than  I  am,  your  honor,' 
said    Max  Grimeau,  grinning    like  an   Alsatian    over     a 
Strasbourg  pie.     "  It  vvas  I  sang  bass  in  the  ballad,  as  you 
came  in,  you  might  have  heard  me,  your  honor  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  I  will  be  sworn  there  is  not  a  jolltef 
beggar  in  Quebec  than  you,  old  Max  !  Here  is  an  icu  for 
you  too,  to  drink  the  Intendant's  health,  and  another  for 
you,  you  roving  limb  of  the  law,  Master  Pothier !  Come 
Master  Pothier !  I  will  fill  your  ragged  gown  full  as  a 
demijohn  of  brandy  if  you  will  go  on  with  the  scrg  ycu 
were  singing."  t- 

"  We  were  at  the  old  ballad  of  the  Pont  d'Avignon^  youi 
honor,"  replied  Master  Pothier.  * 

"  And  I  was  playing  it,"  interrupted  Jean  La  Marche, 
"  you  might  have  heard  my  violin,  it  is  a  good  one. ! "  Jean 
would  not  hide  his  talent  in  a  napkin  on  so  auspicious  an 
occasion  as  this.  He  ran  his  bow  over  the  strings,  and 
played  a  few  bars, — "  that  was  the  tune,  your  honor."      ft 

"  Aye,  that  was  it !  I  know  the  jolly  old  song  !  now  go 
on  I "  Cadet  thrust  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  hiji 


'" 


*■  , 


i 

n '  'i 

i6o 


r//JS  ClilEN  ETOK 


laced  wai.st':oat  and  listened  attentively.  Rough  as  he  wi% 
be  liked  the  old  Canadian  music. 

Jean  tuned  his  fiddle  afresh,  and  pli^  Inr;  it  with  a  know- 
ing jerk  under  his  chin,  and  with  an  air  of  conceit  worthy 
of  LuUi,  began  to  sing  and  play  the  old  ballad:  .;  . 


\ . 


*'  A  St.  Malo,  beau  port  de  mcr, 
Trois  navires  sont  arrivd's, 
Chargifs  d'avoine,  charges  dc  bled ; 
Trois  dames  s'en  vont  les  marchandcr  1" 


1  .    .1 


\  •.! 


"Tut!"  exclaimed  Varin,  "who  cares  for  things  that 
have  no  more  point  in  them  than  a  dumpling  1  give  us  a 
madrigal,  or  one  of  the  devil's  ditties  from  the  quartier 
Latin !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  a  "devil's  ditty,'*  and  would  not  sing  one 
if  I  did,"  replied  Jean  La  Marche,  jealous  of  the  ballads 
of  his  own  New  France.  "Indians  cannot  swear  because 
they  know  no  oaths,  and  habitans  cannot  sing  devil's 
ditties  because  they  never  learned  them,  but  "  St  Malo, 
beau  port  de  mer,"  I  will  sing  that,  with  any  man  in  the 
Colony  1  " 

The  popular  songs  of  the  French  Canadians  are  simple, 
almost  infantine  in  their  language,  and  as  chaste  in  ex- 
pression as  the  hymns  of  other  countries.  Impure  songs 
originate  in  classes  who  know  better,  and  revel  from  choice 
in  musical  slang  and  indecency. 

"  Sing  what  you  like  I "  and  never  mind  Varin,  my  good 
ffllow,"  said  Cadet,  stretching  himself  in  his  chair,  "I 
like  the  old  Canadian  ballads  better  than  all  the  devil's 
ditties  ever  made  in  Paris  1  you  must  sing  your  devil's 
ditties  yourself,  Va-in,  our  habitans  won't,  that  is  sure  1 " 

After  an  hour's  roystering  at  the  Fleur  de  Lys  the  party  of 
gentlemen  returned  to  the  Taverne  de  Menut,  a  good  deal 
more  unsteady  and  more  obstreperous  than  when  they 
came.  They  left  Master  Pothier  seated  in  his  chair, 
drunk  as  Bacchus,  and  every  one  of  the  rest  of  his  com* 
panions  blhid  as  Bartemy. 

The  gentlemen  on  their  return  to  the  Taverne  de 
Menut,  found  De  Pean  in  a  rage.  Pierre  Philibert  had 
followed  Amelie  to  the  city,  and  learning  the  cause  of  her 
anxiety  and  unconcealed  tears,  started  off  with  the  deter- 
mination to  find  Le  Gardeur. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  at  the  gate  of  the  Basse  Ville, 


TUB  nUHRlED  QUEST10i\  OF  DESPAIJf,        a6i 

was  able  to  direct  him  to  the  right  quarter.  He  hastened 
to  the  Taverne  de  Menut,  and  in  haughty  defiance  f  Dc 
Pean,  with  whom  he  had  high  words,  he  got  the  r  nCuritin- 
ate  Le  Gardeur  away,  placed  him  in  a  carriage,  tx''\({  took 
him  home,  receiving  from  Arn^lie  such  sweet  ai.u  ainctsre 
thanks  as  he  thought  a  life's  service  could  scartiiy  ha**e 
deserved. 

**  Par  Dicu\  that  Philibert  is  a  game-cork,  De  Pean/' 
exclaimed  Cadet,  to  the  savage  annoyance  of  the  Secretary. 
"  He  has  pluck  and  impudence  for  ten  gardes  du  torps.  It 
was  neater  done  than  at  Beaumanoir  !  "  Cadet  sat  down 
to  enjoy  a  broad  laugh  at  the  expense  of  his  friend  over 
the  second  carrying  off  of  Le  Gardeur. 

'*  Curse  him  !  I  could  have  run  him  through,  and  am 
sorry  I  did  not,"  exclaimed  De  Pean. 

"  No,  you  could  not  have  run  him  through,  and  you 
would  have  been  sorry  had  you  tried  it,  De  Pean,"  replied 
Cadet,  "  that  Philibert  is  not  as  safe  as  the  bank  of  France  to 
draw  upon.  I  tell  you  it  was  well  for  yourself  you  did 
not  try,  De  Pean."  But  never  mind,"  continued  Cadet, 
"  there  is  never  so  bad  a  day  but  there  is  a  fair  to-morrow 
after  it,  so  make  up  a  hand  at  cards  with  me  and  Colonel 
Trivio,  and  put  money  in  your  purse,  it  will  salve  your 
bruised  feelings."  De  Pean  failed  to  laugh  off  his  ill- 
humor,  but  he  took  Cadet's  advice  and  sat  down  to  play 
for  the  remainder  of  the  night. 

"  Oh,  Pierre  Philibert !  how  can  we  sufficiently  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  my  dear,  unhappy  brother  ?  "  said 
Amdlie  to  him,  her  eyes  tremulous  with  tears  and  her 
hand  convulsively  clasping  his,  as  Pierre  took  leave  of  her 
at  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

"  Le  Gardeur  claims  our  deepest  commiseration,  Am^- 
lie,"  replied  he  ;  "  you  know  how  this  has  happened  ? " 

"  I  do  know,  Pierre,  and  shame  to  know  it.  But  you 
are  so  generous  ever.  Do  not  blame  me  for  this  agita- 
tion I "  She  strove  to  steady  herself,  as  a  ship  will  right 
up  for  a  moment  in  veering. 

"Blame  you?  what  a  thought!  As  soon  blame  the 
angels  for  being  good  !  But  I  have  a  plan,  Am^Iie,  for  Le 
Gardeur.  We  must  get  him  out  of  the  city  and  back  to 
Tilly  fcr  awhile.  Your  noble  aunt  has  given  me  an  invita- 
tion to  visit  the  Manor  House.  What  if  I  manage  to 
accompany  Le  Gardeur  to  his  dear  old  home  ?        ^  r^  jp^ 


t6j 


THE  CHIE.W  DOR. 


i:  I- ' 


It  ' 


"  A  visit  to  Tilly  in  your  company  would,  of  all  Uiingt, 
delight  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she ;  "and  perhaps  break  those 
ties  that  bind  him  to  the  city." 

These  were  pleasing  words  to  Philibert,  and  he  thought 
how  delightful  would  be  her  own  fair  presence  also  at 
Tilly. 

"  All  the  physicians  in  the  world  will  not  help  Le  Gar- 
deur as  will  your  company  at  Tilly  !  "  exclaimed  she,  with 
a  sudden  access  of  hope.  "  Le  Gardeur  needs  not 
medicine,  only  care,  and —  " 

"  The  love  he  has  set  his  heart  on,  Amdiie  I  Men 
sometimes  die  when  they  fail  in  that."  He  looked  at  her 
as  he  said  this,  but  instantly  withdrew  his  eyes,  fearing  he 
had  been  over  bold. 

She  blushed,  and  only  replied  with  absolute  indirec- 
tion :  "  Oh,  I  am  so  thankful  to  you,  Pierre  Philibert !  " 
But  she  gave  him,  as  he  left,  a  look  of  gratitude  and  love 
which  never  effaced  itself  from  his  memory.  In  after 
years,  when  Pierre  Philibert  cared  not  for  the  light  of  the 
sun,  nor  for  woman's  love,  nor  for  life  itself,  the  tender, 
impassioned  glance  of  those  dark  eyes  wet  with  tears 
came  back  to  him  like  a  break  in  the  dark  clouds,  disclos- 
ing the  blue  heaven  beyond ;  and  he  longed  to  be  there. 

i/^iir|  o;  '  ■  .■■■'■•: 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET  AND  THE   EARLIEST  ROSE. 

"  Do  not  go  out  to-day,  brother,  I  want  you  so  particu- 
larly to  stay  with  me  to-day,"  said  Am^lie  de  Repentigny, 
with  a  gentle,  pleading  voice.  "Aunt  has  resolved  to  re- 
turn to  Tilly  to-morrow ;  I  need  your  help  to  arrange  these 
papers ;  and  any  way  I  want  your  company,  brother,"  added 
she,  smiling. 

Le  Gardeur  sat  feverish,  nervous  and  ill  after  his  wild 
night  spent  at  the  Tavern  de  Menut.  He  started  and  red- 
dened as  his  sister's  eyes  rested  on  him.  He  looked 
through  the  open  window  like  a  wild  animal,  ready  to  spring 
out  of  it  and  escape.  .     . 


"^BETWEEX  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  ETC.**        963 


assuage 


•e- 
se 


Id 
d- 


raging  thirst  was  on  him,  which  Atnolie  sou{>ht  to 
by  draughts  of  water,  milk  and  tea — a  sisterly 
attention  which  he  more  than  once  acknowledged  by  kiss- 
ing the  loving  fingers  which  waited  upon  him  so  tenderly, 

"I  cannot  stay  in  the  house,  Amelie,"  said  he;  I 
shall  go  mad  if  I  do !  You  know  how  it  has  fared  w.th 
me,  sweet  sister  1  I  yesterday  built  up  a  tower  of  glass, 
high  as  heaven — my  heaven  :  a  woman's  love.  To-day  I  am 
crushed  under  the  ruins  of  it. 

"  Say  not  so,  brother !  you  were  not  made  to  be  crushed 
by  the  nay  of  any  faithless  woman.  Oh,  why  will  men  think 
more  of  our  sex  than  we  deserve  ?  How  few  of  us  do  deserve 
the  devotion  of  a  good  and  true  man  !  " 

"  How  few  men  would  be  worthy  of  you,  sweet  sister  I" 
replied  he  proudly.  "  Ah  1  had  Ang^lique  had  your  heart, 
Amelie ! " 

"  You  will  be  glad  one  day  of  your  present  sorrow, 
brother,"  replied  she.  "  It  is  bitter,  I  know,  and  I  feel  its 
bitterness  with  you ;  but  life  with  Angelique  would  have 
been  infinitely  harder  to  bear."  1  >'.\ 

He  shook  his  head,  not  incredulously  but  defiantly  at* 
fate.  "  I  would  have  accepted  it,"  said  he,  "  had  I  been  sure 
life  with  her  had  been  hard  as  millstones !  My  love  is  of 
the  perverse  kind,  not  to  be  transmuted  by  any  furnace  of 
fiery  trial." 

"  I  have  no  answer,  brother,  but  this,"  and  Amdlie 
stooped  and  kissed  his  fevered  forehead.  She  was  too 
wise  to  reason  in  a  case  where  she  knew  reason  always 
made  default. 

"  What  has  happened  at  the  Manor  House  "> "  asked  he, 
after  a  short  silence.  "  That  aunt  is  going  to  return  home 
sooner  than  she  expected  when  she  left." 

"  There  are  reports  to-day  of  Iroquois  on  the  upper 
Chaudifere,  and  her  censitaires  are  eager  to  return  to  guard 
their  homes  from  the  prowling  savages  ;  and  what  is  more, 
you  and  Colonel  Philibert  are  ordered  to  go  to  Tilly,  to 
look  after  the  defence  of  the  Seigneurie." 

Le  Gardeur  sat  bolt  upright.  His  military  knowledge 
could  not  comprehend  an  apparently  useless  order.  "  Pierre 
Philibert  and  I  ordered  to  Tilly  to  look  after  the  defence 
of  the  Seigneurie  !  We  had  no  information  yesterday  that 
Iroquois  were  within  fifty  leagues  of  Tilly.  It  is  a  false 
rumor,  raised  by  the  good  wives,  to  get  their  husbands 


>64 


THE  CH/EN  EtOR. 


W\ 


\\  Pi  y 


}\ 


n. 


home  again  !  Don't  you  think  so,  Am^Iie  ?  '*  asked  he,smUiiig 
for  the  first  time. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,  Le  Gardeur  !  But  it  would  be  a 

{)retty  rus^  de  guerre^  were  it  true !  the  good  wives  natural- 
y  feel  nervous  at  being  left  alone  ;  I  should  myself,"  added 
she  playfully. 

"  O,  I  don't  know,  the  nervous  ones  have  all  come  with 
the  men  to  the  city ;  but  I  suppose  the  works  are  sufficiently 
advanced,  and  the  men  can  be  spared  to  return  home.  But 
what  says  Pierre  Philibert  to  the  order  despatching  him  to 
Tilly?  You  ha/e  seen  him  since  ? " 

Am^lie  blushed  a  little,  as  she  replied :  "Yes,  I  have 
seen  him  ;  he  is  well  content,  I  think,  to  see  Tilly  once  more 
in  your  company,  brother." 

"  And  in  yours,  sister  ! — Why  blush,  Amdlie?  Pierre  is 
worthy  of  you,  should  he  ever  say  to  you  what  I  so  vainly 
said  last  night  to  Angelique  des  Meloises !  "  Le  Gardeur 
held  her  tightly  by  the  hand. 

Her  face  was  glowing  scarlet :  she  was  in  utter  confusion. 
"Oh  stop,  brother  !  don't  say  such  things  !  Pierre  never  ut- 
tered such  thoughts  to  me  ! — never  will  in  all  likelihood  ! " 
'^  "But  he  will!  And,  my  darling  sister,  when  Pierre 
Philibert  shall  say  he  ioves  you,  and  ask  you  to  be  his 
wife,  if  you  love  him,  if  you  pity  me,  do  not  say  him  nay !" 
She  was  trembling  with  agitation,  and  without  power  to 
reply.  But  Le  Gardeur  felt  her  hand  tighten  upon  his.  He 
comprehended  the  involuntary  sign,  drew  her  to  him,  kissed 
her,  and  left  the  topic  without  pressing  it  further;  leav- 
ing it  in  the  most  formidable  shape  to  take  deep  root  in 
the  silent  meditations  of  Amdlie. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  such  sunshine  as  Amdlie 
could  throw  over  her  brother.  Her  soft  influence  retained 
him  at  home  :  she  refreshed  him  with  her  conversation,  and 
sympathy,  drew  from  him  the  pitiful  story  of  his  love,  and  its 
bitter  ending.  She  knew  the  relief  of  disburthening  his 
surcharged  heart ;  and  to  none  but  his  sister,  from  whom  he 
had  never  had  a  secret  until  this  episode  in  his  life,  would 
he  have  spoken  a  word  of  his  heart's  trouble. 

Numerous  were  the  visitors  to-day  at  the  hospitable 
mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly ;  but  Le  Gardeur  would  see 
none  of  them,  except  Pierre  Philibert,  who  rode  over  a*! 
soon  as  he  was  relieved  from  hi§  military  attendance  at 
tlie  Castle  of  St  Louis, 


•B ETWEE iV  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  ETC: 


265 


Le  Gardeur  received  Pierre  with  an  effusion  ol 
eratcful  affection — touching,  because  real.  His  handsome 
face,  so  like  Am<5lie's,  was  peculiarly  so  when  it  expressed 
the  emotions  habitual  to  her,  and  the  pleasure  both  felt 
in  the  presence  of  Pierre  brought  out  resemblances  that 
flashed  fresh  on  the  quick,  observant  eye  of  Pierre. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  in  conversation  of  that  kind 
which  gives  and  takes  with  mutual  delight.  Le  Gardeur 
seemed  more  his  old  self  again  in  the  company  of  Pierre  ; 
Am^lie  was  charmed  at  the  visible  influence  of  Pierre  over 
him,  and  a  hope  sprang  up  in  her  bosom,  that  the  little 
artifice  of  beguiling  Le  Gardeur  to  Tilly,  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Pierre,  might  be  the  means  of  thwarting  those  ad- 
verse influences  which  were  dragging  him  to  destruction. 

If  Pierre  Philibert  grew  more  animated  in  the  presence 
of  those  bright  eyes,  which  were  at  once  appreciative  and 
sympathizing,  Am^lie  drank  in  the  conversation  of  Pierre 
as  one  drinks  the  wine  of  a  favorite  vintage.  If  her 
heart  grew  a  little  intoxicated,  what  the  wonder  ? 
Furtively  as  she  glanced  at  the  manly  countenance  of 
Pierre,  she  saw  in  it  the  reflection  ot  his  noble  mind  and 
independent  spirit ;  and,  remembering  the  injunction  of  Le 
Gardeur  — ^for,  woman-like  she  sought  a  support  out  of 
herself  to  justify  a  foregone  conclusion — she  thought  that 
if  Pierre  asked  her,  she  could  be  content  to  share  his  lot, 
and  her  greatest  happiness  would  be  to  live  in  the  posses 
sion  of  his  love. 

Pierre  Philibert  took  his  departure  early  from  the 
house  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  to  make  his  preparations  for 
leaving  the  city  next  day.  His  father  was  aware  of  his 
project,  and  approved  of  it 

The  toils  of  the  day  were  over  in  the  house  of  the  Chien 
D'or.  The  Bourgeois  took  his  hat  and  sword,  and  went 
cut  for  a  walk  upon  the  Cape,  where  a  cool  breeze  came  up 
fresh  from  the  broad  river.  It  was  just  the  turn  of  tide. 
The  full  brimming  waters,  reflecting  here  and  there  a  star, 
began  to  sparkle  under  the  clear  moon  that  rose  slowly 
and  majestically  over  the  hills  of  the  South  Shore. 

The  Bourgeois  sat  down  on  the  low  wall  of  the  terrace 
to  enjoy  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  scene,  which, 
although  he  had  seen  it  a  hundred  times  before,  never 
looked  lovelier,  he  thought,  than  this  evening.  He  was 
very  happy  in  his  silent  thoughts  over  his  son's  return 


266 


THE  CHIEN  DOR. 


home  ;  and  the  general  respect  paid  him  on  the  da)  ot  hia 
fite  had  been  more  felt,  perhaps,  by  the  Bourgeois  than  by 
Pierre  hims^'lf. 

As  he  indulged  in  these  meditations,  a  well-known 
voice  suddenly  accosted  him.  He  turned  and  was  cor- 
dially greeted  by  the  Count  de  la  Galissoni^re,  and  Herr 
Kalm,  who  had  sauntered  through  the  garden  of  the 
Castle,  and  directed  their  steps  towards  the  Cape,  with 
intention  to  call  upon  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  pay  their 
respects  to  her  before  she  left  the  City.  A 

The  Bourgeois  learning  their  intentions,  said  he  would 
accompany  them,  as  he,  too,  owed  a  debt  of  courtesy  to  the 
noble  Lady  and  her  niece  Amelie,  which  he  would  discharge 
at  the  same  time. 

The  three  gentlemen  walked  gravely  on,  in  pleasant 
conversation.  The  clearness  of  the  moonlit  night  threw 
the  beautiful  landscape,  with  its  strongly  accentuated  fea- 
tures, into  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  to  which  the  pen- 
cil of  Rembrandt  alone  could  have  done  justice.  Hen 
Kalm  was  enthusiastic  in  his  admiration.  Moonlight  over 
Drachenfels  on  the  Rhine,  or  the  midnight  sun  peering 
over  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia,  reminded  him  of  something  sim- 
ilar, but  of  nothing  so  grand  on  the  whole  as  the  matchless 
scene  visible  from  Cape  Diamond — worthy  of  its  name. 

Lady  de  Tilly  received  her  visitors  with  the  gracious 
courtesy  habitual  to  her.  She  especially  appreciated  the 
visit  from  the  Bourgeois,  who  so  rarely  honored  the  houses 
of  his  friends  by  his  welcome  presence.  As  for  his 
Excellency,  she  remarked,  smiling,  it  was  his. official  duty 
to  represent  the  politeness  of  France  to  the  ladies  of  the 
Colony,  while  Herr  Kalm  representing  the  Science  of 
Europe,  ought  to  be  honored  in  every  house  he  chose  to 
visit.  She  certainly  esteemed  the  honor  of  his  presence  in 
her  own. 

Am61is  made  her  appearance  in  the  drawing  room,  and 
while  the  visitors  stayed,  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost,  to 
please  and  interest  them  by  taking  a  ready  and  sympathe- 
tic part  in  their  conversation.  Her  quick  and  cultivated 
intellcu,  enabled  her  to  do  so  to  the  delight  and  even 
surprise  of  the  ihree  grave  learned  gentlemen.  She  lacked 
neither  information  nor  opinions  of  her  own,  while 
her  speech,  soft  and  woman  y,  gave  a  delicacy  to  her  free 
yet  modest  utterances,  that  made  her  in  their  recollections 


-  BETWEEN  THE  LA  TEST  VIOLET,  ^C*         t6^ 


of  her  -n  the  future,  a  standard  of  comparison,  a  measure  of 
female  perfections. 

Le  Gardeur,  learning  who  were  in  the  house,  came  down 
after  a  while,  to  thank  the  Governor,  the  Bourgeois  and 
Herr  Kahn,  for  the  honor  of  their  visit.  He  exerted  himself 
by  a  desperate  effort  to  be  conversable,  not  very  success- 
fully however  ;  for  had  not  Amdiie  watched  him  with 
deepest  sympathy  and  adroitly  filled  the  breaks  in  his 
remarks,  he  would  have  f:iiled  to  pass  himself  creditably 
before  the  Governor.  As  it  was,  Le  Gardeur  contented 
himself  with  following  the  flow  of  conversation,  which  wel- 
led up  copiously  from  the  lips  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

After  a  while,  came  in  Felix  Baudoin  in  his  full  livery, 
reserved  for  special  occasions,  and  announced  to  his  Lady 
that  tea  was  served.  The  gentlemen  were  invited  to  partake 
ot  what  was  then  a  novelty  in  New  France.  The  Bourgeois 
in  the  course  of  the  new  traffic  with  China,  that  had  lately 
sprung  up  in  consequence  of  the  discover)'  of  ginseng  in 
New  France,  had  imported  some  chests  of  tea  which  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  with  instinctive  perception  of  its  utility 
adopted  at  once,  as  the  beverage  of  polite  society.  As  yet 
however  it  was  only  to  be  seen  upon  the  tables  of  the 
refined  and  the  affluent.  i-v 

A  fine  service  of  porcelain  of  Chinese  make,  adorned 
her  table,  pleasing  the  fancy  with  its  grotesque  pictures, 
then  so  new,  now  so  familiar  to  us  all.  Ihe  Chinese 
garden  and  summer  house,  the  fruit-laden  trees,  and  river 
with  overhanging  willows.  The  rustic  bridge  with  the 
three  long-robed  figures  passing  over  it ;  the  boat,  floating 
upon  the  water  and  the  doves  flying  in  the  perspectiveless 
sky  j  who  does  not  remember  them  all  ? 

Lady  de  Tilly,  like  a  true  gentlewoman,  prized  her 
china,  and  thought  kindly  of  the  mild,  industrious  race, 
v;ho  had  furnished  her  tea-table  with  such  an  elegant 
equipage. 

It  was  no  disparagement  to  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  that  she 
had  not  read  English  poets,  who  sang  the  praise  of  tea. 
English  poets  were  in  those  days  an  unknown  quantity  in 
French  education,  and  especially  in  New  France,  until  after 
the  conquest.  But  Wolfe  opened  the  great  world  of  English 
poetr)'  to  Canada  as  he  recited  Gray's  Elegy  with  its  pro- 
phetic line— 


'0\ 


«6» 


w 


4! 

,,r;  - 


mm 


THE  Cm.HN  D'OK. 


**  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave.* 


AS  he  floated  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  that  still  autum 
nal  night,  to  land  his  forces  and  scale  by  stealth  the  fatal 
heights  of  Abraham,  y;hose  possession  led  to  the  conquest 
of  the  city  and  his  own  heroic  death,  then  it  was  the  two 
elorious  streams  of  modern  thought  and  literature  united 
in  New  France,  where  they  have  run  side  by  side  to  this 
day — in  time  to  be  united  in  one  grand  flood  stream  of 
Canadian  literature. 

The  Bourgeois  Philibert  had  exported  largely  to  China 
the  newly  discovered  ginseng,  for  which  at  first  the  people 
of  the  flowery  kingdom  paid,  in  their  syce  sil  /er,  ounce  for 
ounce.  And  his  Cantonese  correspondent  esteemed  him- 
self doubly  fortunate  when  he  was  enabled  to  export  his 
choicest  teas  to  New  France  in  exchange  for  the  precious 
root. 

Am^lie  listened  to  an  eager  conversation  between  the 
Governor  and  Herr  Kalm,  started  by  the  latter,  on  the 
nature,  culture  and  use  of  the  tea  plant  (they  would  be  trite 
opinions  now),  with  many  daring  speculations  on  the  ulti- 
mate conquest  of  the  tea  cup  over  the  wme  cup.  "  It 
would  inaugurate  the  third  beatitude ! "  exclaimed  the  phi- 
losopher, pressing  together  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  both 
hands,  "  and  the  '  meek  would  inherit  the  earth  ;'"  so  soon 
as  the  use  of  tea,  became  universal — mankind  would  grow 
milder  as  their  blood  was  purified  from  the  fiery  products 
of  the  still  and  the  wine  press  !  The  life  of  man  would  be 
prolonged  and  made  more  valuable.         .  . 

"  What  has  given  China  four  thousand  of  years  of  exist- 
ence ?  " — asked  Herr  Kalm,  abruptly,  of  the  Count. 

The  Count  "  could  not  tell,  unless  it  were  that  the 
nation  was  dead  already  in  all  that  regarded  the  higher 
life  of  national  existence — had  become  mummified  in  fact 
—and  did  not  know  it." 

"  Not  at  all ! "  replied  Herr  Kalm — "  It  is  the  constant 
use  of  the  life-giving  infusion  of  tea,  that  has  saved  China  i 
Tea  soothes  the  nerves,  it  clears  the  blood,  expels  vapors 
from  the  brain,  and  restores  the  fountain  of  life  to  pristine 
activity.  jSrgo,  it  prolongs  the  existence  of  both  men 
and  nations,  and  has  made  China  the  most  antique  nation 
in  the  world." 

Herr  Kalm  was  a  devotee  to  the  tea  cup,  he  drr^nk  it 


"* BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  A-C* 


269 


Strong  to  excite  his  flagging  spirits,  weak  to  quiet  them 
down.  He  took  Bohea  with  his  facts,  and  Hyson  with  hia 
fancy,  and  mixed  them  to  secure  the  necessary  afflatus  to 
write  his  books  of  science  and  travel.  Upon  Hysvon  he 
would  have  attempted  the  Iliad,  upon  Bohea  he  would 
undertake  to  square  the  circle,  discover  perpetual  motioii, 
or  reform  the  German  philosophy. 

The   professor  was  in  a  jovial  mood,  and  gambolled 
away  gracefully  as  a  Finland  horse  under  a   pack  saddle 
laden  with  the  learning  of  a  dozen  sfidents  of  Abo,  travel 
ling  home  for  the  holidays  ! 

"  We  are  fortunate  in  being  able  to  procure  our  tea,  in 
exchange  for  our  useless  ginseng,"  remarked  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  as  she  handed  the  professor  a  tiny  plite  of  the 
leaves,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the  day.  After  drinking  the 
tea,  the  infused  leavef  were  regarded  as  quite  a  fashionable 
delicacy.  Except  for  the  fashion,  it  had  not  been  perhaps 
considered  a  delicacy,  at  all. 

The  observation  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  set  the  professor 
off  on  another  branch  of  the  subject.  "  He  had  observed," 
he  sai  J,  "  the  careless  methods  of  preparing  the  ginseng  in 
New  France,  and  predicted  a  speedy  end  of  the  traffic, 
unless  it  were  prepared  to  suit  the  fancy  of  the  fastidious 
Chinese. 

"  That  is  true,  Herr  Kalm,  "  replied  the  Governor, 
"  but  our  Indians  who  gather  it  are  bad  managers.  Our 
friend  Philibert,  who  opened  this  lucrative  trade  is  alone 
capable  of  ensuring  its  continuance.  It  is  a  mine  of  wealth 
to  New  France  if  rightly  developed.  "How  much  maae 
you  last  year  by  ginseng,  Philibert  ?  " 

"  I  can  scarcely  answer,"  replied  the  Bourgeois,  hesita- 
ting a  moment  to  mention  what  might  seem  like  egotism. 
"  But  the  half  million  I  contributed  towards  the  war  in 
defence  of  Acadia  was  wholly  the  product  of  my  export 
of  ginseng  to  China." 

"  I  know  it  was  !  and  God  bless  you  for  it,  Philibert !  " 
exclaimed  the  Governor  with  emotion,  as  he  grasped  the 
hand  of  the  patriotic  merchant. 

"  If  we  have  preserved  New  France  this  year,  it  was 
through  your  timely  help  in  Acadia  !  The  king's  treasury 
was  exhausted,"  continued  the  Governor,  looking  at  Horr 
Kalm,  "  and  ruin  imminent,  when  the  noble  merchant  of 
the  Chien  d'Or,  fed,  clothed  and  paid  the  King's  troops 


'..li.^. 


ayo 


ri/£  cm  EN  /•ojf. 


I;  V  : 

I 


for  two  months  before  ihe  taking  of  Grand  Prd  from  th« 
enemy !  " 

"  No  great  thing  in  that,  your  Excellency,"  replied  the 
Bourgeois,  who  hated  compliments  to  himself  '  If  those 
who  have  do  not  give,  how  can  you  get  from  those  who 
have  not?  You  may  lay  some  of  it  to  the  account  of 
Pierre  too.  He  was  in  Acadia,  you,  know,  Governor." — A 
flash  of  honest  pride  passed  over  the  usually  sedate  features 
of  the  Bourgeois  at  the  mention  of  his  son. 

Le  Gardeur  looked  at  his  sister.  She  knew  instinc- 
tively, that  iiis  thoughts  put  into  words  would  say, — "he  is 
worthy  to  be  your  father,  Aradlie  1  "  She  blushed  with  a 
secret  pleasure,  but  spoke  not.  The  music  in  her  heart  was 
without  words,  yet ;  but  one  day  it  would  fill  the  universe 
with  harmony  for  her. 

The  Governor  noticed  the  suddA  reticence,  and  half 
surmising  the  cause,  remarked  playfully.  '*The  Iroquois 
will  hardly  dare  approach  T'illy  with  such  a  garrison  as 
Pierre  Philibert  and  Le  Gardeur,  and  with  you,  my  Lady 
de  Tilly,  as  commandant,  and  you,  Mademoiselle  Am^Iie. 
as  Aide  de  Camp  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  your  Excellency  !  "  replied  the  Lady  de 
Tilly.  "  The  women  of  Tilly  have  worn  swords  and  kept 
the  old  house  before  now  !  "  she  added  playfully,  alluding 
to  a  celebrated  defence  of  the  chateau  by  a  former  lady  of 
the  manor  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  her  censitaires.  "  And 
depend  upon  it  we  shall  neither  give  up  Tilly  nor  Le  Gar- 
deur either,  to  whatever  savages  claim  him,  be  they  red 
or  white  I  " 

/  Th'5  Lady's  allusion  to  his  late  associates  did  not  offend 
Le  Gardeur,  whose  honest  nature  despised  their  conduct, 
while  he  liked  their  company.  They  all  understood  har 
and  laughed.  The  Governor's  loyalty  to  the  King's  corv- 
mission,  prevented  his  speaking  his  thoughts.  He  only 
remarked  "  Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre  Philibert  will  be  under 
your  orders,  my  Lad}",  and  my  orders  are  that  they  are  not 
to  return  to  the  city,  until  all  dangers  of  the  Iroquois  are 
over  ! " 

"All  right !  your  Excellency  !  "  exclaimed  Le  Gardeur. 
"  I  shall  obey  my  aunt."  He  was  acute  enough  to  see 
through  their  kindly  scheming  for  his  welfare.  But  his 
good  nature  and  thorough  devotion  to  his  aunt  and  sister, 
and  his  affectionate  friendship  for  Pierre,  made  him  yield 


** BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  6«C»        jjf 

to  the  project  without  a  qualm  of  regret     Le  Gatdcut  wat 

assailable  on  many  sidest  a  fault  in  his  character  ci  a 
weakness,  wairh  ^t  any  rate  sometimes  offered  a  lever  to 
move  him  in  directions  opposite  to  the  malign  influences 
of  Bigot  and  his  associates. 

The  company  rose  from  the  tea  table,  and  moved  to 
tlic  drawing  room,  where  conversation^  music,  and  a  few 
ganjc;:  of  cards,  wiled  away  a  couple  of  hours,  very  pleas- 
antly. .       ►  7  ^    >v»A'7i 

Amdlie  sang  exquisitely.  The  Governor  was  an  excel- 
lent musician  and  accompanied  her.  His  voice,  a  powerful 
tenor,  had  been  strengthened  by  many  a  conflict  with  old 
Boreas  on  the  hi^h  seas,  and  made  soft  and  flexible  by  his 
manifold  sympathies  with  all  that  is  kindly  and  good  and 
true  in  human  nature.  .  i  ;  .^i^ 

A  song  of  wonderful  pathos  and  beauty  had  just  been 
brought  down  from  the  wilds  of  the  Ottawa,  and  become 
universally  sung  in  New  France.  A  voyageur  flying  from 
a  band  of  Iroquois,  had  found  a  hiding  place  on  a  rocky 
islet  in  the  middle  of  the  Sept  Chutes.  He  concealed  him- 
self from  his  foes,  but  could  not  escape,  and  in  the  end 
died  of  starvation  and  sleeplessness.  The  dying  man 
peeled  off  the  ^vhite  bark  of  the  birch,  and  with  the  juice  of 
berries,  wrote  upon  it  his  death  song,  which  was  found 
long  after  by  the  side  of  his  remains.  His  grave  is  now  a 
marked  spot  on  the  Ottawa.  La  cofnplainte  deCadieuxhdid. 
seized  the  imagination  of  Amdlie.  She  sang  it  exquisitely, 
and  to  night  needled  no  pressing  to  do  so,  for  her  heart 
was  full  of  the  n».w  song,  composed  under  such  circum- 
stances of  woe.  Intense  was  the  sympathy  of  the  company, 
as  she  began. 

"  Petit  Rocher  de  la  Haute  Montagne, 

Je  viens  finir  ici  cette  campagne !  .    ,: 

Ah  !  doux  echos  entendez  mes  soupirs  ! 

En  langui  -.ant  je  vais  bientot — mourir." 

There  were  no  dry  eyes  as  she  concluded.  The  last 
sighs  of  Cadieux  seemed  to  expire  on  her  lips :  > .  - 

Rossignolet  va  dire  i  ma  maitresse,  ' 

A  mes  enfans,  qu'un  adieu  je  leurs  laisse,  •-' 

Que  j'a'  gardd  mon  amour  et  ma  foi,  <  -   I" 

;,,    Et  desorniais  faut  renoncer  b.  moi.'*  ■>■/.■-  i 

A  few  more  friends  of  the  family  dropped  in,  Coulon 
de  Villiers,  C'^uac  Beauharnoi^,  La  Come  St.  Luc,  and 


Mis 


I 


■)  1 


t  -', 


B^» 


THE  a/ 1  v/v  :fOJi. 


'<i-;# 


■  r 
I '  < 


Si 


r^  br- 


others, who  had  heard  of  the  lady's  departuit  vid  caiM 
to  bid  her  adieu. 

La  Corne  raised  much  mirth  by  his  allu^  ^as  to  the 
Iroquois.  The  secret  was  plainly  no  secret  io  him.  **  I 
hope  to  get  their  scalps,"  said  he.  "  when  you  have  done 
with  them  and  they  with  you,  I-e  Gardeur !  " 

The  evening  passed  on  pleasantly,  and  the  clock  of  the 
rvccollets  pealed  oui  a  good  late  hour  before  they  took  final 
leave  of  their  hospitable  hostess,  with  mutual  good  wishes 
and  adieus  which  with  some  of  them  were  never  repeated. 
Le  Gardeur  was  no  little  touched  and  comforted  by  so 
much  sympathy  and  kindness.  He  shook  the  Bourgeois 
affectionately  by  the  hand,  inviting  him  to  come  up  to 
Tilly.  It  was  noticed  and  remembered  that  this  evenii  g,  Le 
Gardeur  clung  filially  as  it  were,  to  the  father  of  Pierre,  and 
the  farewell  he  gave  him,  was  tender,  almost  solemn,  in  a 
sort  of  sadness,  that  left  an  impress  upon  all  minds. 
"  Tell  Pierre  !  but  indeed  he  knows  we  start  early  I  "  said 
Le  Gardeur,  "  and  the  canoes  will  be  waiting  on  the  Bat- 
ture,  an  hour  after  sunrise." 

The  Bourgeois  knew  in  a  general  way  the  position  of 
Le  Gardeur,  and  sympathized  deeply  with  him.  "Keep 
your  heart  up,  my  boy !  "  said  he  on  leaving.  "  Remember 
liic  proverb,  never  forget  it  for  a  moment,  Le  Gardeur ! 
Ci'  que  Dieu  garde  est  bien  garde  ! 

**  Good  bye,  Sieur  Philibert !  "  replied  he,  still  holding 
him  by  the  hand.  "  I  would  fain  be  permitted  to  regard 
you  as  a  father,  since  Pierre  is  all  of  a  brother  to  me  1 " 

"  I  will  be  a  father  and  a  loving  one  too,  if  you  will 
permit  me,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  the  Bourgeois,  touched  by 
the  appeal.  "  When  you  return  to  the  city,  come  home 
with  Pierre.  At  the  Golden  Dog  as  well  as  at  Belmont, 
there  will  be  ever  welcome  for  Pierre's  friend  as  for 
Pierre's  self."     The  guests  took  their  departure. 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  home,  were  all  made, 
and  the  household  retired  to  rest,  all  glad  to  return  to 
Tilly.  Even  Felix  Baudoin  felt  like  a  boy  going  back  on 
a  holiday.  His  mind  was  surcharged  with  the  endless 
things  he  had  gathered  up  ready  to  pour  into  the  sympa- 
thizing ear  of  Barbara  Sanschagrin,  and  the  seA-ants  and 
censitaires  were  equally  eager  to  return  to  relate  their 
adventures  in  the  capital  when  summoned  on  the  King's 
£orvke  to  build  the  walls  of , Quebec. 


THS  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONO. 


^3 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THB  CANADIAN    BOAT  80N0. 

VM^  rbon  vent  J 
V'14  I'joli  vent  I 
V'li  rl)on  vent ! 
Ma  mie  m'  appelle  I 
V'14  rbon  vent  I 
V'14  I'joli   vent! 
''\  rbon  vent ! 
mie  m'  attend! 


■'A 
> 


The  gay  chorus  oi  the  voyageurs  made  the  shores  ring 
as  they  kept  time  with  their  oars  while  the  silver  spray 
dripped  like  a  shower  of  diamonds  in  the  bright  sunshine 
at  every  stroke  of  their  rapid  paddles.  The  graceful 
bark  canoes,  things  of  beauty  and  almost  of  life,  leaped 
joyously  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  as  they 
bore  the  family  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Pierre  Philibert 
with  a  train  of  censitaires  back  to  the  old  Manor  House. 

The  broad  river  was  flooded  with  sunshine  as  it  rolled 
majestically  between  the  high  banks  crowned  with  green 
fields  and  woods  in  full  leaf  of  summer.  Frequent  cottages 
and  villages  were  visible  along  the  shores,  and  now  and 
then  a  little  church  with  its  bright  spire  or  belfry  marked 
the  successive  parishes  on  either  hand  as  the  voyagers 
passed  on  through  the  glorious  panorama  of  a  scene  unsur- 
passed for  beauty  in  the  New  World. 

The  tide  had  already  forced  its  way  two  hundred  leagues 
up  from  the  ocean  and  still  pressed  irresistibly  onward 
surging  and  wrestling  against  the  weight  of  the  descending 
stream. 

The  wind,  too,  was  favorable.  A  number  of  yachts 
and  bateaux  spread  their  snowy  sails  to  ascend  the  river 
with  the  tide.  They  were  for  the  most  part  laden  with 
munitions  of  war  for  the  Richelieu  on  their  way  to  the 
military  posts  on  Lake  Champlain,  or  merchandize  for 
Montreal  to  be  reladen  in  fleets  of  canoes  for  the  trading 
posts  up  the  river  of  the  Ottawas,  the  great  Lakes,  or  may' 
hap  to  supply  the  new  and  far  off  settlements  on  th* 
Belle  Rivifere  and  the  Illinois. 

i8 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.25   III  1.4      1.6 

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► 

i^ 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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The  line  of  canoes  swept  past  the  sailing  vessels  with 
a  cheer.  The  light-hearted  crews  exchang'jd  salutations 
and  bandied  jests  with  each  other,  laughing  immoderately 
at  the  well  worn  jokes  current  upon  the  river  among  the 
rough  voyageurs.  A  good  foyage !  a  clear  run  !  short 
portages  and  long  rests  I  some  enquired  whether  their 
friends  had  paid  for  the  bear  and  buffalo  skins  they  were 
going  to  buy,  or  they  complimented  each  other  on  their 
nice  heads  of  hair  which  it  was  hoped  they  would  not 
leave  behind  as  keepsakes  with  the  Iroquois  squaws. 

The  boat  songs  of  the  Canadian  voyageurs  are  unique 
in  character  and  very  pleasing  when  sung  by  a  crew  of 
broad  chested  fellows  dashing  their  light  birch  bark  canoes 
over  the  waters  rough  or  smooth,  taking  them,  as  they  take 
fortune,  cheerfully.  Sometimes  skimming  like  wild  geese 
over  the  long  placid  reaches,  sometimes  bounding  like 
stags  down  the  rough  rapids  and  foaming  saults.  As 
might  be  inferred,  the  songs  of  the  voyageurs  differ  widely 
from  the  sweet  little  lyrics  sung  in  soft  falsettoes  to  the 
tinkling  of  a  piano  forte  in  fashionable  drawing  rooms,  and 
called  "  Canadian  boat  songs."    ;  ■  I   >'rr; - 

The  Canadian  boat  song  is  always  some-  old  ballad  of 
Norman  or  Breton  origin,  pure  in  thought  and  chaste  in 
expression,  washed  clean  of  all  French  looseness  in  its 
adaptation  to  the  primitive  manners  of  the  Colony  that 
was  founded,  as  expressed  in  the  commission  given  to  its 
discoverer,  Jacques  Cartier,  "for  the  increase  of  God's 
Glory  and  the  honor  of  his  reverend  name."      >    rn; 

The  boat  song  is  usually  composed  of  short  stanzas. 
The  closing  line  of  each  couplet  or  quatraine  repeating 
itself  in  the  beginning  of  the  next  following  verse  and  end- 
ng  with  a  stirring  chorus  that  gathers  up  as  into  a  Leyden 
jar,  the  life  and  electricity  of  the  song,  discharging  it  in  a 
flash  and  peal  of  rhythmic  thunder,  every  voice  joining  in 
the  refrain  while  the  elastic  paddles  dip  with  renewed 
energy  into  the  water  making  the  canoe  spring  like  a  flying 
fish  over  the  surface  of  lake  or  river. 

Master  Jean  La  Marche,  clean  as  a  new  pin  and  in  his 
merriest  mood,  sat  erect  as  the  king  of  Yvetot  in  the  bow 
of  the  long  canoe,  which  held  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her 
family.  His  sonorous  violin  was  coquettishly  fixed  in  its 
place  of  honor  under  his  wagging  chin,  as  it  accompanied 
his  voice,  while  he  chanted  an  old  boat  song  which  had 


T.1E  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG, 


»7J 

and 


lightened  the  labor  of   man)   a  weary  oar  on  lake 
river  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Am^lie  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  canoe  laving  her  white 
band  in  the  cool  stream,  which  rushed  past  her.  She 
looked  proud  and  happy  to-day,  for  the  whole  world  of  her 
affections  was  gathered  together  in  that  little  bark. 

She  felt  grateful  for  the  bright  sun.  It  seemed  to 
havt  dispelled  every  cloud  that  lately  shaded  her  thoughts, 
on  account  of  her  brother,  and  she  silently  blessed  the 
light  breeze  that  played  with  her  hair  and  cooled  her 
cheek  which  she  felt  was  tinged  with  a  warm  glow  of  pleas- 
ure in  the  presence  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

She  spoke  little  and  almost  thanked  the  rough  voyageurs 
for  their  incessant  melodies,  which  made  conversation 
difficult  for  the  time,  and  thus  left  her  to  her  own  sweet 
silent  thoughts  which  seemed  almost  too  sacred  for  the 
profanation  of  words. 

An  occasional  look  or  a  sympathetic  smile  exchanged 
with  her  brother  and  her  aunt,  spoke  volumes  of  pure 
affection.  Once  or  twice  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert  cap- 
tured a  glance  of  hers  which  might  not  have  been  intended 
for  him,  but  which  Am^lie  suffered  him  to  intercept  and 
hide  away  among  the  secret  treasures  of  his  heart.  A 
glance  of  true  affection,  brief,  it  may  be,  as  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, becomes  when  caught  by  the  eyes  of  love  a  real 
thing,  fixed  and  imperishable  forever.  A  tender  smile,  a 
fond  word  of  love's  creation,  contains  a  universe  of  light 
and  life,  and  immortality.  Small  things  and  of  little  value 
V,  others,  but  to  him  or  her  whom  they  concern,  more 
precious  and  more  prized  than  the  treasures  of  Ind. 

Master  Jean  La  Marche  after  a  few  minutes  rest  made 
still  more  refreshing  by  a  draught  from  a  suspicious  look- 
ing flask,  which,  out  of  respect  for  the  presence  of  his 
mistress,  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  he  said  contained  "milk," 
began  a  popular  boat  song  which  every  voyageur  in  New 
France  knew  as  well  as  his  prayers,  and  loved  to  his  very 
finger  ends. 

The  canoe-men  prick<  d  up  their  ears,  like  troopers  at 
the  sound  of  a  bugle,  as  Jean  La  Marche  began  the  famous 
old  ballad  of  the  king's  son,  who  with  his  silver  gun  aimed 
at  the  beautiful  black  duck,  and  shot  the  white  one,  out  of 
whose  eyes  came  gold  and  diamonds,  and  out  of  whose 
mouth  rained  silver,  while  its  pretty  feathers,  scattered  to 


■?<f. 


276  T//£  CHJEN  LfOR. 

the  four  winds,  were  picked  up  by  three  fair  dames,  who 
with  them  made  a  bed  both  large  and  deep— 

**  Fcr  poor  wayfai  «ig  nen  to  sleep." 

Master  Jean's  \  oice  was  clear  and  lesonant  as  a  church 
bell  newly  christet  ed  ;  and  he  sang  the  old  boat-song  with 
an  energy  that  drew  the  crews  of- half-a-dozen  other  canoea 
into  the  wake  of  his  music,  all  uniting  in  the  stirring 
chorus: —  "  :,^'"^r-''.  \,  ''■-'■". s.\i  •-  ',..:''^,'l' ;'. 


'4mi'T 


"  Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  la  riviire  1 
Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  I'aviron  I  " 


i;  QmiV  ■■f\fjn  iy^ofU  tuk:; 


A  few  stanzas  of  this  popular  boat-song,  as  t  was  sung 
by  Jean  La  Marche,  and  is  still  chanted  to  the  oar  by  the 
voyageurs  of  the  North  and  North-West,  are  given  in  the 
original.  The  charming  simplicity  of  it  would  be  lost  in 
a  translation  into  another  tongue,  just  as  Josephte,  the 
pride  of  a  Canadian  village,  loses  her  natural  naivetd  and 
grace  when  she  adopts  the  fashions  and  language  of  the 
Bourgeoisie  of  Quebec  and  Montreal.     '  • '     --  ^5=- ;  - 


to. 


"  Derriire  chez  nous 
Ya — t — un  ^tang, 

Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  Taviron  I  *;^     - 

f/rn  ■iiju^i  ;!     Trois  beaux  canards  tu'i^mii  ■»>oi,-  ly^t^h'  ,:^^' 
V'ljvi';  S'en  vont  baignant,  ;  ]~ 

V.    ;.  .  Fringue!  Fringue  s.         riviirc  I     .:/ 

Fringue  I  Fringue  s\        -vironi     ^   "V 

-;j],^-:  Trois  beaux  canards   ,/?/ V  I  ^vsKl 
.  '     '.   S'en  vont  baignant  I 


V^t 


■H 


'iie^n 


yf!  v-:^->;r 


Fringue  \  Fringue  sur  I'aviron !    'J '  '! 
Le  fils  du  roi         t    ,-r.    rsm   ,u 
S'en  va  chassant.  •  ^, 

Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  la  riviere,    , 
,  v;      Fringue!  Fringue  sur  I'aviron !    '[ 


s>> 


"    '      '      '    '  '     ■'       .'      '"   '■'         '   ,,'?}'kyh"'i'^  ■ 
■m  :-;:'*!'il  Lc  f Is du  Toi    'J''  j-ji:)!-^;  -•  KM-'K;/!-- 'i  -,:/'; 
S'en  va  chassant  ,,  . 

Fringue !  Fringue  sur  I'aviron. 
Aveo  son  grand 
■.,  , :   i  :     Fusi  I  d'argent. 

Fringue !  Fringue  sur  la  riviire  1 


u?v.; 


Fringue!  Fringue  sur  I'aviron  I 


..rui^\ 


..ttr''i:^--vi':^ 


THE  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG, 


^11 


iX.HlVi^V-i: 


■■■(-fy.  *       •! 


:.;/^l;     iJl 


.(•■    1.. 


Atcc  ton  grand 

Fusil  d'ai];ent 

Fringue !  Fringue  sur  raviroo  I 

Visa  le  noir, 

Tua  le  blanc 

Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  la  nf\kx% 
Fringue !  .Fringue  sur  Taviroa  I 

Visa  le  noir» 

Tua  le  blanc. 

Fringue  I  Fringue  sur  Taviron  I 

O  fils  du  Roi, 
-  ^.  j;       Tu  es  mdchant.     •    ^ 
\iO  ,,-....,     Fnngue !  Fringue,  sur  la  riviere  I 
bi'.fi  vM^    Fringue  t  Fringue  sur  I'aviron ! 


And  so  on,  they  sang  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  to 
the  end  of  the  pleasant  old  ditty.  Jean  La  Marche  san^ 
the  first  and  second  lines  solo,  the  crew  joining  in  the  third. 
He  then  sang  the  fourth  and  fifth,  when  the  chorus  at  the 
conclusion  was  repeated  Hy  the  whole  com^zxiy  forte  fortissi* 
mOf  the  paddles  moving  with  renewed  vigor,  and  keeping 
time  to  the  song. 

;  The  performance  of  Jean  La  Marche  was  highly  relished 
by  the  critical  boatmen,  and  drew  from  them  that  flattering 
mark  of  approval,  so  welcome  to  a  vocalist — an  encore  of 
the  whole  long  ballad  from  beginning  to  end. 

As  the  line  of  canoes  swept  up  the  stream,  a  welcome 
cheer  occasionally  greeted  them  from  the  shore,  or  a  voice 
on  land  joined  in  the  gay  refrain.  They  drew  nearer  to 
Tilly,  and  their  voices  became  more  and  more  musical, 
their  gaiety  more  irrepressible,  for  they  were  going  home, 
and  home  to  the  habitans^  as  well  as  to  their  Lady,  was  the 
world  of  all*  delights. 

The  contagion  of  high  spirits  caught  even  Le  Gardeur, 
and  drew  him  out  of  himself,  making  him  for  the  time  for- 
get the  disappointments,  resentments  and  allurements  of 
the  city.         *AAi'fv  vr^^  '•^^''^i.  ■^^'**'^-.  ''■*-=t."~'- "  V  '^''^■ 

Sitting  there  in  the  golden  sunshine,  the  blue  sky  above 
him,  the  blue  waters  below, — ^friends  whom  he  loved  around 
him,  mirth  in  every  eye,  gayety  on  every  tongue, — ^how 
could  Le  Gardeur  but  smile,  as  the  music  of  the  boatmen 
brought  back  a  hundred  sweet  associations.  Nay,  he 
laughed,  and  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  A^dlie  and 
Pierre,  who  watched  every  change  in  his  demeanor,  united 
in  the  chorus  of  the  glorious  boat-song.      ^      > 


Bin 


Pit 


« 

r^;. 


m 
mil, 


fv 


9;8  rJif£  CHIEN  irOX. 

A  few  hours  of  this  pleasant  voyaging  brought  Ijie  little 
fleet  of  canoes  urder  the  high  bank  which  from  its  summit 
slopes  away  in  a  wide  domain  of  forests,  park  and  culti- 
vated fields,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  high  pointed 
and  many  gabled  manor-house  of  Tilly. 

Upon  a  promontory — as  if  placed  there  for  both  a  land 
and  sea  mark,  to  save  souls  as  well  as  bodies — rose  the 
belfry  of  the  chapel  of  St.  Michael,  overlooking  a  cluster 
of  white,  old-fashioned  cottages,  which  formed  the  village 
of  St.  Michael  de  Tilly. 

Upon  the  sandy  beach  a  crowd  of  women,  children  and 
old  men,  had  gathered,  who  were  cheering  and  clapping 
their  hands  at  the  unexpected  return  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Manor,  with  all  their  friends  and  relatives.  •  •,  m:i 

The  fears  of  the  villagers  had  been  greatly  excited 
for  some  days  past,  by  exaggerated  reports  of  the  presence 
of  Iroquois  on  the  upper  waters  of  the  Chaudifere.  They 
not  unnaturally  conjectured,  moreover,  that  the  general 
call  for  men  on  the  king's  corvee,  to  fortify  the  city,  por- 
tended an  invasion  by  the  English,  who,  it  was  rumored, 
were  to  come  up  in  ships  from  below,  as  in  the  days  of  Sir 
William  Phipps,  with  his  army  of  New  Englanders,  the 
story  of  whose  defeat  under  the  walls  of  Quebec  was  still 
freshly  remembered  in  the  traditions  of  the  colony. 

"  Never  fear  them  !  "  said  old  Louis,  the  one-eyed  pilot. 
**  It  was  in  my  father's  daj's.  Many  a  time  have  I 
heard  him  tell  the  story — how  in  the  autumn  of  the  good 
year  1690,  thirty-four  great  ships  of  the  Bostonians  came 
up  from  below,  and  landed  an  army  of  ventres  bleus  of  New 
England  on  the  flats  of  Beauport.  But  our  stout  Governor, 
Count  de  Frontenac,  came  upon  them  from  the  woods  with 
his  brave  soldiers,  habitans  and  Indians,  and  drove  them 
pell-mell  back  to  their  boats,  and  stripped  the  ship  of  Ad- 
miral Phipps  of  his  red  flag,  which,  if  you  doubt  my  word — 
which  no  one  does — still  hangs  over  the  high  altar  of  the 
church  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires !  Blessed  be  our 
Lady;  who  saved  our  country  from  our  enemies, — and  will 
do  so  again,  if  we  do  not  by  our  wickedness  lose  her  favor ! 
But  the  arbre  sec — the  dry  tree — still  stands  upon  the 
Point  de  Levis,  where  the  Boston  fleet  took  refuge  before 
beating  their  retreat  down  the  river  again, — and  you  know 
tlie  old  prophecy,  that  while  that  tree  stands,  the  English 
shall  never  prevail  against  Q  lebec  1 " 


r//£  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG, 


*79 


Much  comforted  by  this  speech  of  old  Louis  the  pilot, 
the  villagers  of  Tilly  rushed  to  the  beach  to  receive  their 
friends.  • 

The  canoes  came  dashing  into  shore.  Men,  women 
and  children  ran  knee-deep  into  the  water  to  meet  them, 
and  a  hundred  eager  hands  were  ready  to  seize  their  prowi, 
and  drag  them  high  and  drj'  upon  the  sandy  beach. 

"  Home  again !  and  welcome  to  Tilly,  Pierre  Philibert  I  ** 
exclaimed  Lady  de  Tilly,  offering  her  hand.  '*  Friends 
like  you  have  the  right  of  welcome  here.'*  Pierre  expressed 
his  pleasure  in  fitting  terms,  and  lent  his  aid  to  the  noble 
Lady  to  disembark.  ";-  -:  .    f.*rv  '^^' 

Le  Gardeur  assisted  Am^ie  out  of  the  canoe.  As  he 
led  her  across  the  beach,  he  felt  her  hand  tremble  as  it 
rested  on  his  arm.  He  glanced  down  at  her  averted  face, 
and  saw  her  eyes  directed  to  a  spot  well  remembered  by 
himself, — the  scene  of  his  rescue  from  drowning  by  Pierre 
Philibert.      -:;«;/; '-k^:  v. ^^iitenovf'^  !'v:.,    ,,/hJ  ,>; 

I'he  whole  scene  came  before  Am^lie  at  this  moment. 
Her  vivid  recollection  conjured  up  the  sight  of  the  inani- 
mate body  of  her  brother  as  it  was  brought  ashore  by  the 
strong  arm  of  Pierre  Philibert,  and  laid  upon  the  beach, 
— her  long  agony  of  suspense,  and  her  joy,  the  greatest 
she  had  ever  felt  before  or  since,  at  his  resuscitation  to  life. 
— and,  lastly,  her  passionate  vow  which  she  made  when, 
clasping  the  neck  of  his  preserver, — a  vow  which  she  had 
tnahrined  as  a  holy  thing  in  her  heart  ever  since. 

At. that  moment  a  strange  fancy  seized  her,  that  Pierre 
Philibert  was  again  plunging  into  deep  water,  to  rescue  her 
brother,  and  that  she  would  be  called  on  by  some  mysteri- 
ous power  to  renew  her  vow  or  fulfil  it  to  the  very  letter. 

She  twitched  Le  Gardeur  gently  by  the  arm  and  said 
to  him,  in  a  half  whisper;  "  It  was  there,  brother  1  do  you 
remember  ? " 

" I  know  it,  sister  1 "  replied  he  ;  "I  was  also  thinking 
of  it.  I  am  grateful  to  Pierre,  yet,  oh  my  Amdlie,  better 
he  had  left  me  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  river,  where  1 
had  found  my  bed ;  I  \  ave  no  pleasure  in  seeing  Tilly  ar»y 
more ! " 

"  Why  not,  brother  ?  Are  we  not  all  the  same  ?  Are 
we  not  all  here  ?  There  is  happiness  and  comfort  for  you 
at  Tilly." 

"  There  was  once,  Amdlie,"  replied  he,  sadly,  "  but 


»So 


THE  CHtBN  tyOR, 


'^? 


m 


there  will  be  none  for  me  in  the  future,  as  I  feel  too  well.  I 
am  not  worthy  of  you,  Am^lie."  i 

•*Come,  brother  I "  replied  she,  cheerily,  "  you  dampen 
the  joy  of  our  arrival.  See,  the  flag  is  going  up  on  the 
staff  of  the  turret,  and  old  Martin  is  getting  ready  to  Are 
off  the  culverin  in  honor  of  your  arrival." 

Presently  there  was  a  flash,  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  the 
report  of  a  cannon  came  booming  down  to  the  shore  from 
the  Manor  House.  i   u^iTim/^  / 

"  That  was  well  done  of  Martin  and  the  women  1 "  re- 
marked Felix  Baudoin,  who  had  served  in  his  youth,  and 
therefore  knew  what  was  fitting  in  a  military  salute.  "  *  The 
women  of  Tilly  are  better  than  the  men  of  Beauce/  says 
the  proverb."    i'Ml'l  //  tjiI  b'A 

"  Aye,  or  of  Tilly  either ! "  remarked  Joseph te  Le  Tar- 
deur,  in  a  sharp,  snapping  tone.  Josephte  was  a  short, 
stout  virago,  with  a  turned  up  nose  and  a  pair  of  black 
eyes  that  would  bore  you  through  like  an  auger.  She  wore 
a  wide-brimmed  hat  of  straw,  overtopping  curls  as  crisp  as 
her  temper.  Her  short  linsey  petticoat  was  not  chary  of 
showing  her  substantial  ankles,  while  her  rolled  up  sleeves 
displayed  a  pair  of  arms  so  red  and  robust  that  a  Swiss 
milkmaid  might  well  have  envied  them. 

Her  remark  was  intended  for  the  ear  of  Josd  Le  Tar- 
deur,  her  husband,  a  lazy,  good-natured  fellow,  whose  eyes 
had  been  fairly  henpecked  out  of  his  head  all  the  days  of 
his  married  life.  "  Josephte's  speech  hit  him  without  hurt- 
ing him,"  as  he  remarked  to  a  neighbor.  "Josephte  made 
a  target  of  him  every  day.  He  was  glad,  for  his  part,  that 
the  women  of  Tilly  were  better  soldiers  than  the  men,  and 
so  much  fonder  of  looking  after  things  !  It  saved  the  men 
a  deal  of  worry  and  a  good  deal  of  work." 

**  What  are  you  saying,  Josd  ?  "  exclaimed  Felix,  who 
only  caught  a  few  half  words.  ^  -i^^vym 


"I  say.  Master  Felix,  that  but  for  Mire  Eve  there 

upon  men,  to  make  them  labor 
and  no  sin  either.    As  the 


would  have  been  no  curse 
when  they  do  not  want  to,  ana  no  sm 
Cur^  says,  we  could  have  lain  on  the  grass,  sunning  our- 
selves all  day  long.  Now,  it  is  no'ihing  but  work  and  pray, 
never  play,  else  you  will  save  neither  body  nor  soul. 
Master  Felix,  I  hope  you  will  remember  me  if  I  come  up 
to  the  Manor  House." 

"Aye,  I  will  remember  you,  Jos^'*  replied  Felix,  tartly  ; 


THE  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG. 


s8t 


**but  if  labor  was  the  curse  vhich  Eve  brought  into  the 
world  when  she  ate  the  apple,  1  am  sure  yoa  are  free  from 
it.  So  ride  up  with  the  carts,  Jos^,  and  get  out  of  the  vay 
of  my  lady's  can  -age !  " 

Jos^  obeyed  and,  taking  off  his  cap,  bowed  respectfully 
to  the  Lady  De  Tilly  as  she  passed,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Pierre  Philibcrt,  who  escorted  her  to  her  carriage. 

A  couple  of  sleek  Canadian  horses,  sure-footed  as  goat9 
and  strong  as  little  elephants,  drew  the  coach  with  a  long, 
steady  trot  up  the  winding  road  which  led  to  the  Manor 
House.  -  r*  •" 

The  road,  unfenced  and  bordered  with  grass  on  each 
side  of  the  track,  was  smooth  and  well  kept,  as  became  the 
Grande  Chaussde  of  the  Barony  of  Tilly.  It  ran  sometimes 
through  stretches  of  cultivated  fields — green  pastures  or 
corn  lands  ripening  for  the  sickle  of  the  censitaire.  Some- 
times it  passed  through  cool,  shady  woods,  full  of  primeval 
grandeur — part  of  the  great  Forest  of  Tilly,  which  stretched 
away  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  over  the  hills  of  the  south 
shore.  Huge  oaks  that  might  have  stood  there  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world — wide-branching  elms  and  dark 
pines  overshadowed  the  highway,  opening  now  and  then 
into  vistas  of  green  fields  wher:  stood  a  cottage  or  two, 
with  a  herd  of  mottled  cows  grazing  down  by  the  brook. 
On  the  higher  ridges  the  trees  formed  a  close  phalanx,  and 
with  their  dark  tops  cut  the  horizon  into  a  long,  irregular 
line  of  forest,  as  if  offering  battle  to  the  wbodman's  axe 
that  was  threatening  to  invade  their  soli  i  des. 

Half  an  hour's  driving  brought  the  ompany  to  the 
Manor  House,  a  stately  mansion,  gabled  and  pointed  like 
an  ancient  chdteau  on  the  Seine. 

It  was  a  large  irregular  structure  of  hammered  stone, 
with  deeply  recessed  windows,  muUioned  and  ornamented 
with  grotesque  carvings.  A  turret,  loopholed  and  battle- 
mented,  projected  from  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the 
house,  enabling  its  inmates  to  enfilade  every  side  with  a 
raking  fire  of  musketry,  affording  an  adequate  defence 
against  Indian  foes.  A  stone  tablet  over  the  main  entrance 
of  the  Manor  House  was  carved  with  the  Armorial  bear- 
ings of  the  ancient  family  of  Tilly,  with  the  date  of  its 
erection,  and  a  pious  invocation,  placing  the  house  under 
the  special  protection  of  St.  Michael  de  Thury,  the  patron 
saint  of  the  House  of  Tilly. 


tSa 


THE  CHJBN  lyoit. 


V 


\% 


A       1 

V5 


si- 


The  Manor  House  of  Tilly  had  been  built  by  Chaile^ 
Le  Gardeur  De  Tilly,  a  gentleman  of  Normandy,  one  of 
whose  ancestors,  the  Sire  De  Tilly,  figures  on  the  roll  of 
Battle  Abbev,  as  a  follower  of  Duke  William,  at  Hastings 
His  descenciant,  Charles  Le  Gardeur,  came  over  to  Canada 
with  a  large  body  of  his  vassals  in  1636,  having  obtained 
from  the  King  a  grant  of  the  lands  of  Tilly,  on  the  bank 
of  the  St.  Lawrence,  "  to  hold  in  Fief  and  Seigneury," — so 
ran  the  royal  patent — "  with  the  right  and  jurisdiction  of 
superior,  moyenne  and  basse  justice,  and  of  hunting,  fish- 
ing and  trading  with  the  Indians  throughout  the  whole  of 
this  royal  concession  ;  subject  to  the  condition  of  foi  et 
hommaggy  which  he  shall  be  held  to  perform  at  the  Castle 
of  St.  Louis,  in  Quebec,  of  which  he  shall  hold  under  the 
customary  duties  and  dues,  agreeably  to  the  coutume  de 
Paris  followed  in  this  country." 

Such  was  the  style  of  the  Royal  grants  of  Seignioral 
rights  conceded  in  New  France,  by  virtue  of  one  of  which 
this  gallant  Norman  gentleman  founded  his  settlement  and 
built  this  Manor  House  on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

A  broad  smooth  carriage  road  led  up  to  the  mansion 
across  a  park  dotted  with  clumps  of  evergreens  and  decid- 
uous trees.  Here  and  there  an  ancient  patriarch  of  the 
forest  stood  alone,  some  old  oak  or  elm,  whose  goodly  pro- 
portions and  amplitude  of  shade  had  found  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Seigneurs  of  Tilly,  and  saved  it  from  the  axe 
of  the  woodflfian.  ;i  r-rt  fvii  *:■    ia^Mh.  i      V  io  - 

A  pretty  brook,  not  too  wide  to  be  crossed  over  by  a 
rustic  bridge,  meandered  through  the  domain,  peeping 
occasionally  out  of  the  openings  in  the  woods  as  it  stole 
away  like  a  bashful  girl  from  the  eyes  of  her  admirer. 

This  brook  was  the  outflow  of  a  romantic  little  lake 
that  lay  hidden  away  among  the  wooded  hills  that  bounded 
the  horizon,  an  irregular  sheet  of  water  a  league  in  circum- 
ference, dotted  with  islands  and  abounding  with  fish  and 
waterfowl,  that  haunted  its  quiet  pools.  That  primitive 
bit  of  nature  had  never  been  disturbed  by  axe  or  fire, 
and  was  a  favorite  spot  for  recreation  to  the  inmates  of  the 
Manor  ^'^  use,  to  whom  it  was  accessible  either  by  boat 
up  the  iittie  stream,  or  by  a  pleasant  drive  through  the  old 
woods.  .■{p(iiky5:^!L^\::r^tMi^  -'^ '.m-'-r 

As  the  carriages  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Manor  House, 
every  door,  window  and  gable  of  which  looked  like  an  oM 


riTR  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG.  ffj 

friend  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert,  a  body  of  female  ae^ 
vants,  the  men  had  all  been  away  at  the  city,  stood  ranged 
in  their  best  gowns  and  gayest  ribbons  to  welcome  home 
their  mistress  and  Mademoiselle  Am^lie,  who  was  the  idol 
of  them  all. 

Great  was  their  delight  to  see  Monsieur  Le  Gardeur, 
a^  they  usually  styled  their  young  master,  with  another 
penMcinan  in  military  costume,  whom  it  did  not  take  two 
minutes  for  some  of  the  sharp-eyed  lasses  to  recognize  as 
Pierre  Philibert,  who  had  once  saved  the  life  of  Le  Gardeur 
on  a  memorable  occasion,  and  who  now,  they  said  one  to 
another,  was  come  to  the  Manor  House  to — to— thejr 
whispered  what  it  was  to  each  other,  and  smiled  in  a  know- 
ing manner  1 

Women's  wits  fly  swiftly  to  conclusions,  and  right  ones, 
too,  on  most  occasions.  The  lively  ,^aids  of  Tilly  told 
one  another  in  whispers  that  they  were  sure  Pierre  Phili- 
bert had  come  back  to  the  Manor  House  as  a  suitor  for 
the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Am^iie,  as  was  niost  natural  he 
should  do,  so  handsome  and  manly  looking  as  he  was,  and 
Mademoiselle  always  liked  to  hear  any  of  them  mention 
his  name.  The  maids  ran  out  the  whole  chain  of  logical 
sequences  before  either  Pierre  or  Amdlie  had  ventured  to 
draw  a  conclusion  of  any  kind  from  the  premises  of  this 
visit.  ''^  •' 

Behind  the  mansion,  overlooking  poultry-yards  and 
stables  which  were  well  hidden  from  view,  rose  a  high  col- 
ombibre  or  pigeon-house  of  stone,  the  possession  of  which 
was  one  of  the  rights  which  feudal  law  reserved  to  the  lord 
of  the  manor.  This  colombifere  was  capable  of  containing 
a  large  army  of  pigeons,  but  the  regard  which  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  had  for  the  cornfields  of  her  censitaires,  caused  her 
to  thin  out  its  population  to  such  a  degree  that  there  re- 
mained only  a  few  favorite  birds  of  rare  breed  and  plumage, 
to  strut  and  coo  upon  the  roofs  and  rival  the  peacocks  on 
the  terrace  with  their  bright  colors. 

In  front  of  the  mansion,  contrasting  oddly  with  the 
living  trees  around  it,  stood  a  high  pole,  the  long  straight 
stem  of  a  pine  tree,  carefully  stripped  of  its  bark,  bearing 
on  its  top  the  withered  remains  of  a  bunch  of  evergreens, 
with  the  fragments  of  a  flag  and  ends  of  ribbon  which 
fluttered  gaily  from  it.  The  pole  was  marked  with  black 
spots  from  the  discharge  of  guns  fired  at  it  by  the  joyous 


j?t 


% 


«»4 


THE  a/I&N  J/OM. 


i'r: 
'.§ 
Hi 


il^ 


t.S 


'v« 


PS 


habUa.\*y  wno  nad  kepi  the  ancient  custom  of  Mayday 
by  planting  this  Maypo  e  in  front  of  the  Manor  House  of 
their  ladv. 

The  planting  of  such  a  pole  was  in  New  France  a  special 
mark  of  respect  due  to  the  feudal  superior,  and  custom 
as  well  as  politeness  required  that  it  should  not  be  taken 
down  until  the  recurrence  of  another  anniversary  of  Flora, 
which  in  New  France  sometimes  found  the  earth  white 
with  snow  and  hardened  with  frost,  instead  of  covered  with 
flowers  as  in  the  old  world  whence  the  custom  was  derived. 
The  Lady  de  Tilly  duly  appreciated  this  compliment  of 
her  faithful  censitaires,  and  would  sooner  have  stripped 
her  park  of  half  its  live  trees  than  have  removed  that  dead 
pole,  with  its  withered  crown,  from  the  place  of  honor  in 
front  of  her  mansion. 

The  revels  of  May  in  New  France,  the  king  and  queen 
of  St.  Philip,  the  rejoicings  of  a  frank,  loyal  peasantry — 
illiterate  in  books  but  not  unlearned  in  the  art  of  life — have 
wholly  disappeared  before  the  levelling  spirit  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  n .  ♦>?  ? 

The  celeteration  of  the  day  of  St.  Philip  has  been  super- 
seded by  the  festival  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  at  a  season 
of  the  year  when  green  leaves  and  blooming  flowers  give 
the  possibility  of  arches  and  garlands  in  honor  of  the  Can- 
adian summer. 

Felix  Beaudoin  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  scattered  the 
bevy  of  maid  servants  who  stood  chattering  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  new  arrivals, — The  experience  of  Felix  told  him 
that  everything  had  of  course  gone  wrong  during  his  ab- 
sence from  the  Manor  House,  and  that  nothing  could  be 
fit  for  his  mistress'  reception  until  he  had  set  all  to  rights 
again  himself.  ..  ^f-irj^.-vr.  iv^-*'  --■;  ^Ui  ^ft-vk,.t>  H^^i  -v^lhr^iS  '^ 

The  worthy  Major  Domo  was  in  a  state  of  perspiration 
lest  he  should  not  get  into  the  house  before  his  mistress, 
and  don  his  livery  to  meet  her  at  the  door  with  his  white 
wand  and  everything  en  rkgle^  just  as  if  nothing  had  in' 
terrupted  their  usual  course  of  housekeeping. 

The  Lady  De  Tilly  knew  the  weakness  of  her  faithful 
old  servitor,  and  although  she  smiled  to  herself  she  would 
not  hurt  his  feelings  by  entering  the  house  before  he  was 
ready  at  his  post  to  receive  her.  She  continued  walking 
about  the  lawn  conversing  with  Amdlie,  Pierre  and  Le 
Gardeur,  until  she  saw  old  Felix  with  his  wand  and  livery 


THE  CANADIAN  BOAT  SO/fG. 


»»s 


•tanding  at  the  door,  when,  taking  Pierre's  arm,  she  led  tht 
way  into  the  house. 

The  folding  doors  were  open  and  Felix  with  his  wand 
walked  before  his  Lady  and  her  companions  into  the  man- 
sion. They  entered  without  delay,  for  the  day  had  been 
warm  and  the  ladies  were  weary  after  sitting  several  hours 
in  a  canoe,  a  mode  of  travelling  which  admits  of  very  little 
change  of  position  in  the  voyagers. 

The  interior  of  the  Manor  Flouse  of  Tilly,  presented 
the  appearance  of  an  old  French  ch&teau,  A  large  hall 
with  antique  furniture  occupied  the  centre  of  the  house, 
used  occasionally  as  a  court  of  justice,  when  the  Seigneur 
de  Tilly  exercised  his  judicial  office  for  the  trial  of  offen- 
ders, which  was  very  rarely,  thanks  to  the  good  morals 
of  the  people,  or  held  a  Cour  Pkniire  of  his  vassals,  on 
affairs  of  the  seigneurie  for  apportioning  the  corvies  for 
road  making  and  bridge  building,  and  not  the  least  impor- 
tant by  any  means  for  the  annual  feast  to  his  Censitaires, 
on  the  day  of  St.  Michael  de  Thury. 

From  this  hall,  passages  led  into  apartments  and  suites 
of  rooms  arranged  for  use,  comfort  and  hospitality.  The 
rooms  were  of  all  sizes,  panelled,  tapestried  and  furnished 
in  a  style  of  splendor  suited  to  the  wealth  and  dignity  of  the 
Seigneurs  of  Tilly.  A  stair  of  oak,broad  enough  for  a  section 
of  grenadiers  to  march  up  it  abreast,  led  to  the  upper  cham- 
ers,  bedrooms  and  boudoirs,  which  looked  out  of  old  mul- 
lioned  windows  upon  the  lawn  and  gardens  that  surrounded 
the  house,  affording  picturesque  glimpses  of  water,  hills 
and  forests  far  enough  off  for  contemplation  and  yet  near 
enough  to  be  accessible  by  a  short  ride  from  the  mansion. 

Pierre  Philibert  was  startled  at  the  strange  familiarity 
of  everything  be  sajW.  The  passages  and  all  their  intricacies 
where  he,  Le  Garcleur  and  Ame'lie  had  hid  and  found  one 
another  with  cries  of  delight,  he  knew  where  they  all  led 
to.  The  rooms  with  their  antique  and  stately  furniture, 
the  paintings  on  the  wall,  before  which  he  had  stood  and 
gazed,  wondering  if  the  world  was  as  fair  as  those  land- 
scapes of  sunny  France  and  Italy,  and  why  the  men  and  wo- 
men of  the  house  of  Tilly,  whose  portraits  hung  upon  the 
walls,  looked  at  him  so  kindly  with  those  dark  eyes  of  theirs, 
which  seemed  to  follow  him  everywhere,  and  he  imagined 
they  even  smiled  when  their  lips  were  illumined  by  a  ray 
of  sunshine.    Pierre  looked  at  them  again  with  a  strange 


s86 


THk  CHIEND'OR, 


*-  > 


I  V 

•h 


i  I 


hi 


^1 


P-^ 


t  i  t .% 


interest,    they  were  like  the  faces  of  living  friends  who 
welcomed  him  back  to  Tilly  after  years  of  absence. 

Pierre  entered  a  well  remembered  apartment  which  he 
knew  to  be  the  favorite  sitting  room  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
lie  walked  hastily  across  it  to  look  at  a  picture  upon  the 
wall  which  he  recognized  again  with  a  flush  of  pleasure. 

It  was  the  portrait  of  Am^lie  painted  by  himself  during 
his  last  visit  to  Tilly.  The  young  artist,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
had  put  his  whole  soul  into  the  work  until  he  was  himself 
startled  at  the  vivid  likeness  which  almost  unconsciously 
flowed  from  his  pencil.  He  had  caught  the  divine  upward  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  her  head  to  listen  to  him 
and  left  upon  the  canvas  the  very  smile  he  had  seen  upon 
her  lips.  Those  dark  eyes  of  hers  had  haunted  his  mem- 
ory for  ever  after.  To  his  imagination  that  picture  had  be- 
come almost  a  living  thing.  It  was  as  a  voice  of  his  own 
that  returned  to  his  ear  as  the  voice  of  Amdlie.  In  the 
painting  of  that  portrait  Pierre  had  the  first  revelation  of  a 
consciousness  of  his  deep  love  which  became  in  the  end  the 
master  passion  of  his  life. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes  contemplating  this  portrait, 
so  different  from  her  in  age  now,  yot  so  like  in  look  and  ex- 
pression. He  turned  suddenly  and  saw  Am61ie  ;  she  had 
silently  stepped  up  behind  him,  and  her  features  in  a  glow 
of  pleasure  took  on  the  very  look  of  the  picture. 

Pierre  started  ;  he  looked  again  and  saw  every  feature  of 
the  girl  of  twelve  looking  through  the  transparent  counte- 
nance of  the  perfect  woman  of  twenty.  It  was  a  moment 
of  blissful  revelation,  for  he  felt  an  assurance  at  that  mo- 
ment that  Amelie  was  the  same  to  him  now  as  in  their  days 
of  youthful  companionship.  "  How  like  it  is  to  you  yet, 
Amdlie  I "  said  he  :  "  it  is  more  true  than  I  knew  how  to 
make  it  ! " 

"  That  sounds  like  a  paradox,  Pierre  Philibert  I  "  replied 
she  with  a  smile.  "  But  it  means,  I  suppose,  that  you  painted 
a  universal  portrait  of  me  which  will  be  like  through  all  my 
seven  ages.  Such  a  picture  might  be  true  of  the  soul, 
Pierre,  had  you  painted  that,  but  I  have  outgrown  the  pio 
ture  of  my  person.*' 

**  I  could  imagine  nothing  fairer  than  that  portrait  t  In 
soul  and  body  it  is  all  true,  Am61  e." 

"  Flatterer  that  you  are !  "  said  she,  laughing,  "I  could  al 
mQSt  wish  that  portrait  would  walk  out  of  its  frame  to 


TK  E  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG,  i8; 

thank  you  for  the  care  you  bestowed  upon  its  foolisn  little 
original." 

"  My  care  was  more  than  rewarded  !  I  find  in  that  pic- 
ture my  beau  ideal  of  the  beauty  of  life,  which  belonging 
to  the  soul  is  true  to  all  ages." 

**  The  girl  of  twelve  would  have  thanked  you  more  enthu- 
siastically for  that  remark,  Pierre,  than  I  dare  do,"  replied 

she.  '■'^^^'  •.;'::!■ 

"  The  thanks  are  due  from  me,  not  from  you,  Am^lie !  I 
became  your  debtor  for  a  life  long  obligation  when 
without  genius  I  could  do  impossibilities.  You  taught 
me  that  paradox  when  you  let  me  paint  that  picture." 

Amdlie  glanced  quickly  up  at  him.  A  slight  color 
came  and  went  on  her  cheek.  "  Would  that  I  could  do  im- 
possibilities, "  said  she,  "to  thank  you  sufficiently  for  your 
kindness  to  Le  Gardeur  and  all  of  us  for  coming  to  Tilly 
::t  this  time." 

"  It  would  be^a  novelty,  almost  a  relief  to  put  Pierre 
Philibert  under  some  obligation  to  us,  for  all  we  o\ye  him  ; 
would  it  not,  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  continued  she,  clasping  the 
arm  of  her  brother  who  just  now  came  into  the  room. 
"  We  will  discharge  a  portion  of  our  debt  to  Pierre  for 
this  welcome  visit  by  a  day  on  the  lake  !  we  will  make  up 
a  water  party  !  What  say  you,  brother  ?  the  gentlemen 
shall  light  fires,  the  ladies  shall  make  tea,  and  we  will  have 
guitars  and  songs,  and  maybe  a  dance,  brother  !  and  then 
a  glorious  return  home  by  moonlight !  What  say  you  to 
my  programme,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ?  What  say 
you,  Pierre  Philibert  ?  " 

Pierre  admired  the  sisterly  tact  of  Am^lie.  The 
projected  water-party  was  only  designed  for  the  purpose 
of  dissipating  the  cloud  of  cares  that  hung  over  the  mind 
of  her  brother,  yet  if  a  tinge  of  pleasure  at  the  presence  of 
Pierre  mingled  with  her  joy — it  was  natural  and  pardon- 
able. -;.,'    'f,.,r  '•     :»'..  .  ■  .r,   ..;':.;'*^r;(Tt, 

"  It  is  a  good  programme,  sister,  but  leave  me  out  of 
it.  I  shall  only  mar  the  pleasure  of  the  rest ;  I  will  not 
go  to  the  lake,  I  have  been  trying  ever  since  my  return 
home  to  recognize  Tilly  j  everything  looks  to  me  in  an 
eclipse,  and  nothing  bright  as  it  once  was,  not  even  you, 
Amdlie.  Your  smile  has  a  curious  touch  of  sadness  in  it, 
which  does  not  escape  my  eyes,  accursed  as  they  have 
been  of  late,  seeing  things  they  ought  not  to  see,  yet  I  can 


fl88 


rHE  CIIIEN  D'OX. 


>    . 


see  that  and  I  know  it  too  ;  I  have  given  you  cause  to  be 
sad,  sister." 

"  Hush  brother  1  it  is  a  sin  against  your  dear  eyes  to 
speak  of  them  thus !  Tilly  is  as  bright  and  joyous  as  ever. 
As  for  my  smiles,  if  you  detect  in  them  one  trace  of  that 
sadness  you  talk  ahDut,  I  shall  grow  as  melancholy  as 
yourself,  and  for  as  little  cause.  Come  I  you  shall  confess 
before  three  days,  brother,  if  you  will  only  help  me  to  be 
gay,  that  your  sister  has  the  lightest  heart  in  New  France." 


1^   ' 
1 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


CHEERFUL    IESTERIMV3  AND  CONFIDENT  TO-MORROWS. 


^S^^l 


P  ^) 


I      J 


The  ladies  retired  to  their  several  rooms  and  after  a 
general  rearranging  of  toilets,  descended  to  the  great 
parlor,  where  they  were  joined  by  Messire  La  Lande,  the 
curd  of  the  parish,  a  benevolent,  rosy  old  priest,  and 
several  ladies  from  the  neighborhood,  with  two  t)r  three 
old  gentlemen  of  a  military  air  and  manner,  retired  officers 
of  the  army  ,who  enjoyed  their  pensions,  ^nd  kept  up  their 
respectability  at  a  cheaper  rate  in  the  country  than  they 
could  do  in  the  city. 

Felix  Beaudoin  had  for  the  last  two  hours  kept  the 
cooks  in  hot  water.  He  was  now  superintending  the  lay- 
ing of  the  table,  resolved  that  notwithstanding  his  long 
absence  from  home,  the  dinner  should  be  a  marvellous 
success.      '  ' 

»"  Amclie  was  very  beautiful  to-day.  Her  face  was  aglow 
with  pure  air  and  exe/cise,  and  she  felt  happy  in  the 
apparent  contentment  of  her  brother,  whom  she  met  with 
Pierre  on  the  broad  terrace  of  the  Manor  House. 

She  was  dressed  with  exquisite  neatness,  yet  plainly. 
An  antique  cross  of  gold  formed  her  only  adornment 
except  her  own  charms.  That  cross  she  had  put  on  in 
honor  of  Pierre  Philibert.  He  recognized  it  with  delight 
as  a  birthday  gift  to  Amdlie  which  he  had  himself  given 
her  during  their  days  of  juvenile  companionship,  on  one 
of  his  holiday  visits  to  Tilly. 


CHEERFUL  YESTERDAYS,  ETC. 


189 


She  was  conscious  of  his  recognition  of  it.  It  brought 
a  flw"  to  her  cheek  ; "  It  is  in  honor  of  your  visit,  Pierre,*' 
said  e  frankly,  "  that  I  wear  your  gift.  Old  friendship 
lasts  well  with  me,  does  it  not  ?  But  you  wi'l  find  more  old 
friends  than  me  at  Tilly  who  have  not  forgotten  you.'* 

"  I  am  already  richer  than  Croesus,  if  friendship  couLt 
as  riches,  Am^lie.  The  hare  had  many  friends  but  none 
at  last,  I  am  more  fortunate  in  possessing  one  friend  worth 
a  million."  " 

"  Nay,  you  have  the  million  too,  if  good  wishes  count 
in  your  favor,  Pierre,  you  are  richer — "  the  bell  in  the 
turret  of  the  Ch&teau  began  to  ring  for  dinner,  drowning 
her  voice  somewhat. 

"  Thanks  to  the  old  bell  for  cutting  short  the  com- 
pliment, Pierre,"  continued  she,  laughing,  "  you  don't  know 
what  you  have  lost !  but  in  compensation  you  shall  be 
my  cavalier,  and  escort  me  to  the  dining-room." 

She  took  the  arm  of  Pierre  and  in  a  merry  mood  which 
brought  back  sweet  memories  of  the  past,  their  voices 
echoed  again  along  the  old  corridors  of  the  Manor  House,  as 
they  proceeded  to  the  great  dining-room,  where  the  rest  of 
the  company  were  assembling. 

The  dinner  was  rather  a  stately  affair  owing  to  the 
determination  of  Felix  Beaudoin  to  do  especial  honor  to 
the  return  home  of  the  family.  How  the  company  ate, 
talked,  and  drank  at  the  hospitable  table,  need  not  be 
recorded  here.  The  good  curd,  his  face,  under  the  joint 
influence  of  good  humor,  and  good  cheer,  was  full  as  a 
harvest  moon.  He  rose  at  last,  folded  his  hands  and 
slowly  repeated  ^^  agimus  gratias."  After  dinner  the 
company  withdrew  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  drawing-room, 
where  conversation,  music,  and  a  few  games  of  cards  for 
such  as  liked  them,  filled  up  a  couple  of  hours  longer. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  seated  beside  Pierre  Philibert,  on 
the  sofa,  conversed  with  him  in  a  pleasant  strain,  while  the 
curd,  with  a  couple  of  old  dowagers  in  turbans,  and  an  old 
veteran  (Jfficer  of  the  colonial  marine,  long  stranded  on  a 
lee  shore,  formed  a  quartette  at  cards. 

These  were  steady  enthusiasts  of  whist  and  piquet, 
such  as  are  only  to  be  found  in  small  country  circles 
where  society  is  scarce,  and  amusements  few.  They  had 
met  as  partners  or  antagonists,  and  played,  laughed  and 
wrangled  over  sixpenny  stakes,  and  odd  tricks  and  honors 

19 


M^r 


290 


THE  CHJtN  D'OR. 


I J     ■    'w: 


every  week  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  would  willingly 
have  gone  on  playing  till  the  day  of  judgment  without  a 
:hange  of  partners,  if  they  could  have  trumped  death  and 
iron  the  odd  trick  of  him. 

Pierre  recollected  having  seen  these  same  old  friends 
leited  at  the  sime  card  table,  during  his  earliest  visits  to 
the  Manor  House.  He  recalled  the  fact  to  the  Lady  d; 
Tilly,  who  laughed  and  said  :  "  her  old  friends  had  lived  sc 
long  in  the  company  of  the  Kings  and  Queens  that  formed 
the  paste-board  Court  of  the  kingdom  of  Cocagne,  that 
they  could  relish  no  meaner  amusement  than  one  which 
Royalty,  although  mad,  had  the  credit  of  introducing.'' 

Am^lie  devoted  herself  to  the  task  of  cheering  her 
somewhat  moody  brother.  She  sat  beside  him,  resting  her 
hand  with  sisterly  affection  upon  his  shoulder,  while  in  a 
low,  sweet  voice  she  talked  to  him,  adroitly  touching  those 
topics  only  which  she  knew  woke  pleasurable  associations 
in  his  mind.  Her  words  were  sweet  as  manna  and  full  of 
womanly  tenderness  and  sympathy,  skilfully  wrapped  in  a 
strain  of  gayety  like  a  bridal  veil  which  covers  the  tears  of 
the  heart. 

Pierre  Philibert's  eyes  involuntarily  turned  towards  her, 
and  his  ears  caught  much  of  what  she  said.  He  was 
astonished  at  the  grace  and  perfection  of  her  language. 
It  seemed  to  him  like  a  strain  of  music  filled  with  every 
melody  of  earth  and  heaven,  surpassing  poets  in  beauty 
of  diction,  philosophers  in  truth,  and  in  purity  of  affection 
all  the  saints  and  sweetest  women  of  whom  he  had  evei 
read. 

Her  beauty,  her  vivacity,  her  modest  reticences  and 
her  delicate  tact  in  addressing  the  captious  spirit  of  Le 
Gardeur,  filled  Pierre  with  admiration.  He  could  at  that 
moment  have  knelt  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  in  her  the 
realization  of  every  image  which  his  imagination  had  ever 
formed  of  a  perfect  woman. 

Now  and  then  she  played  on  the  harp  for  Le  Gardeui 
the  airs  which  she  knew  he  liked  best.  His  sombre  mood 
yielded  to  her  fond  exertions  and  she  had  the  reward  of 
drawing  at  last  i  smile  from  his  eyes  as  well  as  from  his 
lips.  The  last  she  knew  might  be  simulated,  the  former 
she  felt  was  real,  for  the  smile  of  the  eye  is  the  flash  of  the 
joy  kindled  in  the  glad  heart. 
Le  Gardeur  was  not  dull  nor  ungrateful,  he  read  clearly 


CHEEkFUL  /BSTERDAYS,  E7V. 


enough  the  loving  purpose  of  his  sister.  His  brow  clt:ared 
up  under  her  sunshine.  He  smiled,  he  laughed  and 
Amdlie  had  the  exquisite  joy  of  believing  she  had  gained 
a  victory  over  the  dark  spirit  that  had  taken  possession  of 
his  soul,  although  the  hollow  laugh  struck  the  ear  of  Pierre 
Philibert  with  a  more  uncertain  sound  than  that  which 
flattered  the  fond  hopes  of  Amdlie. 

Am^lie  looked  towards  Pierre  and  saw  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her,  with  that  look  which  fills  every  woman  with 
an  emotion  almost  painful  in  its  excess  of  pleasure  when 
first  she  meets  it.  That  unmistakeable  glance  from  the 
eyes  of  a  man  who  she  is  proud  to  perceive  has  singled  her 
out  from  all  other  women  for  his  love  and  homage. 

Her  face  became  of  a  deep  glow  in  spite  of  her  efforts 
to  look  calm  and  cold  ;  she  feared  Pierre  might  have  mis- 
interpreted her  vivacity  of  speech  and  manner.  Sudden  dis- 
trust of  herself  came  over  her  in  his  presence.  The  flow 
of  her  conversation  was  embarrassed  and  almost  ceased. 

To  extricate  herself  from  her  momentary  confusion 
which  she  was  very  conscious  had  not  escaped  the  obser- 
vation of  Pierre  (and  the  thought  of  that  confused  her  still 
more),  she  rose  and  went  to  the  harpsichord  to  recover  her 
composure  by  singing  a  sweet  song  of  her  own  composition, 
written  in  the  soft  dialect  of  Provence,  the  Languedoc^  full 
of  the  sweet  sadness  of  a  tender,  impassioned  love. 

Her  voice,  tremulous  in  its  power,  flowed  in  a  thous- 
and harmonies  on  the  enraptured  ears  of  her  listeners. 
Even  the  veteran  card  players  left  a  game  of  whist  unfin- 
ished to  cluster  round  the  angelic  singer. 

Pierre  Philibert  sat  like  one  in.  d  trance.  He  loved  music 
and  understood  it  passing  well.  He  had  heard  all  the  rare 
voices  which  Paris  prided  itself  in  the  possession  of,  but 
he  thought  he  had  never  known  what  music  was  till  now. 
His  heart  throbbed  in  sympathy  with  every  inflection  of  the 
voice  of  Amelie  which  went  through  him  like  a  sweet  spell 
of  enchantment.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  disembodied  spiiit 
singing  in  the  language  of  earth,  which  changed  at  lasi 
into  a  benediction  and  good  night  for  the  departing  guests, 
who  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual  out  of  consideration  for 
the  fatigue  of  their  hosts  took  their  leave  of  the  Manor 
House  and  its  hospitable  inmates. 

The  family,  as  families  will  do  upon  the  departure  oi 
their  guests,  drew  up  in  a  narrower  circle  round  the  fire, 


^9^ 


THE  ai/B^  rtok. 


1  - 


?i' ' 


I  *.;.■■' 


ill  I 


y 


that  blessed  circle  of  freed',  n  and  confidence  which  belongs 
only  to  happy  households.  The  novelty  of  the  situation 
kept  up  the  interest  of  the  day  and  they  sat  and  conversed 
until  a  late  hour. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  reclined  comfortably  in  her  fauteuil 
looking  with  goodnatured  complacency  upon  the  little  group 
beside  her.  Amdlie  sitting  on  a  stool  reclined  her  head 
against  the  bosom  of  her  aunt  whose  arm  embraced  her 
closely  ind  lovingly,  as  she  listened  with  absorbing  in- 
terest tt  an  animated  conversation  between  her  aunt  and 
Pierre  1-nilibert. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  drew  Pierre  out  to  talk  of  his 
travels,  his  studies  and  his  military  career  of  which  he 
spoke  frankly  and  modestly.  His  high  principles  won  her 
admiration,  the  chivalry  and  loyalty  of  his  character  mingled 
with  the  humanity  of  the  true  soldier,  touched  a  chord  in 
her  own  heart,  stirring  within  her  the  sympathies  of  a  nature 
akin  to  his. 

The  presence  of  Pierre  Philibert  so  unforeseen  at  the 
old  Manor  House  seemed  to  Am^lie  the  work  of  Providence 
for  a  good  and  great  end,  the  reformation  of  her  brother. 
If  she  dared  to  think  of  herself  in  connection  with  -him,  It 
was  with  fear  and  trembling,  as  a  saint  on  earth  receives  a 
beatific  vision  that  may  only  be  realized  in  Heaven. 

Amdlie  with  peculiar  tact  sought  to  entangle  Le  Gar- 
deur's  thoughts  in  an  elaborate  cobweb  of  occupations 
rivalling  that  of  Arachne,  which  she  had  woven  to  catch 
every  leisure  hour  of  his,  so  as  to  leave  him  no  time  to 
brood  over  the  pleasures  of  the  Palais  of  the  Intendant  or 
the  charms  of  Ang<51ique  des  Meloises. 

There  were  golden  threads  too,  in  the  network  in 
which  she  hoped  to  entangle  him.  Long  rides  to  the 
neighboring  seigneuries,  where  bright  eyes  and  laughing 
lips  were  ready  to  expel  every  shadow  of  care  from  the 
most  dejected  of  men,  much  more  from  a  handsome  gallant 
like  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  whose  presence  at  any  ol 
these  old  manors  put  their  fair  inmates  at  once  in  holiday 
trim  and  it\  holiday  humor.  There  were  shorter  walks 
through  the  park  and  domaine  of  Tilly,  where  she  intend- 
ed to  botanize  and  sketch,  and  even  fish  and  hunt  with  Le 
Gardeur  and  Pierre,  although  sooth  to  say  Am^lie's  share 
in  hunting  would  only  be  to  ride  her  sure-footed  pony  and 
look  at  her  companions.    There  were  visits  to  friends  faf 


cfiEERFUL  yestehdavs,  etc. 


«9I 


and  near  and  visits  in  return  to  the  Manor  House,  and  a 
grand  excursion  of  all  to  the  lake  of  Tilly  in  boats.     They 
would  colonize  its  little  island  for  a  day,  set  up  tents,  nuke 
a  Governor  and  Intendant,  perhaps  a  King  and  Queen,  and  , 
forget  the  world  till  their  return  home. 

This  elaborate  scheme  secured  the  approbation  of  the 
Lady  de  Tilly,  who  had  in  truth  contributed  purt  of  it.  Le 
Gardeur  said  he  was  a  poor  fly  whom  they  were  resolved 
to  catch  and  pin  to  the  wall  of  a  Chateau  en  lispaf^e^MX 
he  would  enter  the  web  without  a  buzz  of  opposition  on 
condition  that  Pierre  would  join  Iiim.  So  it  was  all 
settled. 

Amdlie  did  not  venture  again  that  night  to  encounter 
the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert,  she  needed  more  courage  than 
she  felt  just  now  to  do  that,  but  in  secret  she  blessed  him 
and  treasured  those  fond  looks  of  his  in  her  heart,  never  to 
be  forgotten  any  more.  When  she  retired  to  her  own 
chamber  and  was  alone  she  threw  herself  in  passionate 
abandonment  before  the  altar  in  her  little  oratory  which 
she  had  crowned  with  flowers,  to  mark  her  gladness.  She 
poured  out  her  pure  soul  in  invocations  of  blessings  upon 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  upon  her  brother  and  all  the  house. 
The  golden  bead  of  her  rosary  lingered  long  in  her  loving 
fingers  that  night  as  she  repeated  over  and  over  her  accus* 
tomed  prayers  for  his  safety  and  welfare. 

The  sun  rose  gloriously  next  morning  over  the  green 
woods  and  still  greener  meadows  of  Tilly.  The  atmosphere 
was  soft  and  pure.  It  had  been  washed  clean  of  all  its 
impurities  by  a  few  showers  in  the  night.  Every  object 
seemed  nearer  and  clearer  to  the  eye,  while  the  delicious 
odors  of  fresh  flowers,  filled  the  whole  air  with  fragrance. 

The  trees,  rocks,  waters  and  green  slopes  stood  out 
with  marvellous  precision  of  outline,  as  if  cut  with  a  keen 
knife.  No  fringe  of  haze  surrounded  them  as  in  a  drouth,or 
in  the  evening  when  the  air  is  filled  with  the  shimmering 
of  the  day  dust,  which  follows  the  sun's  chariot  in  his 
course  round  the  world. 

Every  object,  great  a  id  small,  seemed  magnified  to 
welcome  Pierre  Philibert  who  was  up  betimes  this  morning 
and  out  in  the  pure  air  viewing  the  old  familiar  scenes. 

Wi^-h  what  delight  he  recognized  each  favorite  spot. 
There  was  the  cluster  of  trees  which  crowned  a  prom- 
ontory overlooking  the   St.  Lawrence,  where   he  and  Le 


<94 


TlrE  cniEN  D'OH, 


Wi  : 


(4 


,t  ' 


Ganleur  had  stormed  the  eagle's  nest.  In  that  sweep  of 
forest,  the  deer  used  to  browze  and  the  fawns  couch  in  the 
long  ferns.  Upon  yonder  breezy  hill  they  used  to  sit  and 
count  the  sails  turning  alternately  bright  and  dark  as  the 
vessels  tacked  up  the  broad  river.  There  was  a  stretch  of 
green  lawn  still  green,  as  it  was  in  his  memory  ;  how  ever- 
lasting are  God's  colors  I  There  he  had  taught  Amtflie  to 
r-de  and  holding  fast  ran  by  her  side  keeping  pace  with  her 
dying  Indian  pony.  How  beautiful  and  fresh  the  picture 
of  her  remained  in  his  memory  !  The  soft  white  dress  she 
wore,  her  black  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  her  dark 
eyei  flashing  delight,  her  merry  laugh  rivalling  the  trill  of 
the  blackbird  which  flew  over  their  heads  chattering  for 
very  joy.  Before  him  lay  the  pretty  brook  with  its  rustic 
bridge  reflecting  itself  in  the  clear  water  as  in  a  mirror. 
That  path  along  the  bank  led  down  to  the  willows,  where 
the  big  mossy  stones  lay  in  the  stream  and  the  silvery 
salmon  and  speckled  trout  lay  fanning  the  water  gently 
with  their  fins  as  they  contemplated  their  shadows  on  the 
smooth  sandy  bottom. 

Pierre  Philibert  sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  side  of  the 
brook,  and  watched  the  shoals  of  minnows  move  about  in 
little  battalions,  wheeling  like  soldiers,  to  the  right  or  left, 
at  a  wave  of  the  hand.  But  his  thoughts  were  running  in 
a  circle  of  questions  and  enigmas  for  which  he  found 
neither  end  nor  answer. 

For  the  hundredth  time  Pierre  proposed  to  himself  the 
tormenting  enigma,  harder,  he  thought,  to  solve  than  any 
problem  of  mathematics — for  it  was  the  riddle  of  his  life— - 
"What  thoughts  are  truly  in  the  heart  of  Amdlie  de  Re- 
pentigny  respecting  me  ?  Does  she  recollect  me  only  as 
her  brother's  companion,  who  may  possibly  have  some 
claim  upon  her  friendship,  but  none  upon  her  love  ? "  His 
imagination  pictured  every  look  she  had  given  him  since 
his  return.  Not  all !  O !  Pierre  Philibert !  The  looks 
you  would  have  given  worlds  to  catch,  you  were  uncon- 
scious of !  Every  word  she  had  spoken,  the  soft  inflection 
of  every  sy\iable  of  her  silvery  voice  lingered  in  his  ear. 
He  had  caught  meanings  where  perhaps  no  meaning  was^ 
and  missed  the  key  to  others  which  he  knew  were  there— 
never,  perhaps,  to  be  revealed  to  him.  But,  although  he 
questioned  in  the  name  of  love,  and  found  many  divine 
echoes  in  her  words,  imperceptible  to  every  ear  but  his 


CHEERFUL  YE5TEKDAY\  ETC. 


•W 


own,  he  could  not  wholl)  solve  the  riddle  of  his  life.    StiU 
he  hoped. 

**  If  love  creates  love,  as  some  say  it  does,**  tnought  he, 
*'  Amdie  de  Repentigny  :annot  be  indiffereiit  to  a  passion 
ivhich  governs  every  impulse  of  my  being  I  But  is  there 
any  especial  mer^t  m  loving  her,  whom  all  the  world  can* 
not  help  admiring  equally  with  myself  ?  I  am  presumptu- 
ous to  think  so  ! — and  more  presumptuous  still  to  expect; 
after  so  many  years  of  separation  and  forge tfulness,  that 
her  heart,  so  loving  and  so  sympathetic,  has  not  already 
bestowed  its  affection  upon  some  one  more  fortunate  than 
me." 

While  Pierre  tormented  himself  with  these  sharp  thorns 
of  doubt — and  of  hopes,  painful  as  doubts, — little  did  he 
think  what  a  brave,  loving  spirit  was  hid  under  the  silken 
vesture  of  Amdlie  de  Repentigny,  and  how  hard  was  her 
struggle  to  conceal  from  his  eyes  those  tender  regards 
which,  with  over  delicacy,  she  accounted  censurable  be- 
cause they  were  wholly  spontaneous. 

He  little  thought  how  entirely  his  image  had  filled  her 
heart  during  those  years,  when  she  dreamed  of  him  in  the 
quiet  cloister,  living  in  a  world  of  bright  imaginings  of  her 
own ;  how  she  had  prayed  for  his  safety  and  welfare  as 
she  would  have  prayed  for  the  soul  of  one  dead — never 
thinking  or  even  hoping  to  see  him  again. 

Pierre  had  become  to  her  as  one  of  the  disembodied 
saints  or  angels,  whose  pictures  looked  down  from  the 
wall  of  the  Convent  chapel — the  bright  angel  of  the 
Annunciation  or  the  youthful  Baptist  proclaiming  the  way 
of  the  Lord.  Now,  that  Pierre  Philibert  was  alive  in  the 
flesh, — a  man,  beautiful,  brave,  honorable,  and  worthy  of 
any  woman's  love, — Amelie  was  frightened  !  She  had  not 
looked  for  that,  and  yet  it  had  come  upon^her.  And, 
although  trembling,  she  was  glad  and  proud  to  find  she 
had  been  remembered  by  the  brave  youth,  who  recognized 
in  the  perfect  woman  the  girl  he  had  so  ardently  loved 
as  a  boy. 

Did  he  love  her  still  ?  Woman's  heart  is  quicker  to 
apprehend  all  possibilities  than  man's.  She  had  caught  a 
look  once  or  twice  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert  which 
thrilled  the  inmost  fibres  of  her  being.  She  had  detected 
his  ardent  admiration.  Was  she  offended  ?  Far  from  it  1 
And  although  her  cheek  had  flushed  deeply  red,  and  her 


f^  THE  CHIEN  DTOR. 

pulses  throbbed  hard  at  the  sudden  consciousness  thai 
Pierre  Philibert  admired,  nay,  more, — she  could  not  con- 
ceal it  from  herself;  she  knew  that  night — that  he  loved 
her  I   She  would  not  have  forgone  that  moment  of  revela 
tion  for  all  that  the  world  had  to  offer. 

She  would  gladly  at  that  moment  of  discpvery  have  fled  to 
her  own  apartment,  and  cried  for  joy,  but  she  dare  not ;  she 
trembled  lest  his  eyes,  if  she  looked  up,  should  discover  the 
secret  of  her  own.  She  had  an  overpowering  conscious- 
ness that  she  stood  upon  the  brink  of  her  fate  :  that  ere  long 
that  look  of  his  would  be  followed  by  words — blessed, 
hoped  for  words  ! — from  the  lips  of  Pierre  Philibert ; 
words  which  would  be  the  pledge  and  assurance  to  her  of 
that  love  which  was  hereafter  to  be  the  joy — it  migh{  be, 
the  despair,  but  in  any  case,  the  all  in  all  of  her  life  for 
ever.        :,v!j ;;  ^        ;;;..,. 

Amdlie  had  not  vet  realized  the  truth  that  love  is  the 
Strength,  not  the  weakness  of  woman  ;  and  that  the  bold- 
ness of  the  man  is  rank  cowardice  in  comparison  with  the 
bravery  she  is  capable  of,  and  the  sacrifices  she  will  make 
for  the  sake  of  the  man  who  has  won  her  heart. 

God  locks  up  in  a  golden  casket  of  modesty  the  yearn- 
ings of  a  woman's  heart.  But  when  the  hand  in  which  he 
has  placed  the  key  that  opens  it  calls  forth  her  glorified 
affections,  they  come  out  like  the  strong  angels,  and  hold 
back  the  winds  that  blow  from  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth  that  they  may  not  hurt  the  man  whose  forehead  is 
sealed  with  the  kiss  of  her  acknowledged  love. 


.i^^  I 


. .  ,  .^ 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


A  DAY  AT  THE   MANOR   HOUSE. 


Amelie,  after  a  night  of  wakefulness  and  wrestling 
with  a  tumult  of  new  thoughts  and  emotions — no  lon- 
ger dreams,  but  realities  of  life — dressed  herself  in  a 
light  morning  costume,  which,  simple  as  it  was,  bore  the 
touch  of  her  graceful  hand  and  perfect  taste.  With  a  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat  set  upon  her  dark  tresses,  which  wera 


A  DAY  AT  THE  MANOR  HOUSE. 


•97 


ktiotted  wiih  careless  care  in  a  blue  ribbon,  she  descended 
the  steps  of  the  Manor  House.  There  was  a  deep  bloom 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  looked  like  fountains  dL 
light  and  gladness,  running  over  to  bless  all  beholders. 

She  enquired  of  Felix  Bcaudoin  of  her  brother.  The 
old  major-domo,  with  a  significant  look,  informed  her  that 
Monsieur  Le  Gardeur  had  just  ordered  his  horse  to  ride 
to  the  village.  He  had  first  called  for  a  decanter  of  cog- 
nac, and  when  it  was  brought  to  him  he  suddenly  thrust 
it  back,  and  would  not  taste  it.  '*  He  would  not  drink 
even  Jove's  nectar  in  the  Manor  House,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
would  go  down  to  the  village,  where  Satan  mixed  the  drink 
for  thirsty  souls  like  his  I  Poor  Le  Gardeur  1  "  continued 
Felix,  "  you  must  not  let  him  go  to  the  village  this  morn- 


ing, 


Mademoiselle  I 


Am^lie  was  startled  at  this  information.  She  hastened 
at  once  to  seek  her  brother,  whom  she  found  walking  im- 
patiently  in  the  garden,  slashing  the  heads  off  the  tulips 
and  dahlias  within  reach  of  his  riding-whip.  He  was 
equipped  for  a  ride,  and  waited  the  coming  of  the  groom 
with  his  horse. 

Am^lie  ran  up  and  clasping  his  arm  with  both  hands  as 
she  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  smile,  exclaimed,  "  Do  not 
go  to  the  village  yet,  Le  Gardeur  I     Wait  for  us." 

"  Not  go  to  the  village  yet,  Amdlie  ?  "  replied  he, 
"  Why  not  ?  I  shall  return  for  breakfast,  although  I  have 
no  appetite.  I  thought  a  ride  to  the  village  would  give 
me  one." 

"  Wait  until  after  breakfast,  brother,  when  we  will  all 
go  with  you  to  meet  our  friends  who  come  this  morning  to 
Tilly,  our  cousin  H^loise  de  Lotbinibre  is  coming  to  see  you 
and  Pierre  Philibert.  You  must  be  there  to  welcome 
her.  Gallants  are  too  scarce  to  allow  her  to  spare  the  hand- 
somest of  all,  my  own  brother  !  " 

Am^lie  divined  truly  from  Le  Gardeur's  restless  eyes 
and  haggard  look  that  a  fierce  conflict  was  going  on  in  his 
breast,  between  duty  and  desire.  Whether  he  should  re- 
main at  home  or  go  to  the  village  to  plunge  again  into  the 
sea  of  dissipation  out  of  which  he  had  just  been  drawn  to 
land  half  drowned  and  utterly  desperate. 

Am^lie  resolved  not  to  leave  his  side  but  to  cleave  to 
him  and  inch  by  inch  to  fight  the  demons  which  possessed 
him  until  she  got  the  victory. 


% 


*!;«> 


/v/A  cJi/ty  iroft 


'* 


.  1-  • 

r 


IJKJVS^KbB^  '' 

1  ll'<? 

ilff 

Jwi' 

iJV' f^RiH--''''''' 

lip 

Lc  Cirdeur  Iixikcd  foudly  in  the  face  of  Am^lie.  H« 
read  her  thoughts,  and  was  very  conscious  why  she  wished 
him  not  to  <^o  to  the  village.  His  feelings  gave  way  before 
her  love  and  tenderness.  He  suddenly  embraced  her  and 
kissed  her  checks,  while  the  tears  stood  welling  in  his  eyes. 
"  I  am  not  worthy  of  you,  Amelie,"  said  he, "  so  much  sisterly 
care  is  lost  on  me  !  " 

"Oh,  say  not  that,  brother,"  replied  she,  kissing  him 
fondly  in  retiurn.  *'  I  would  give  my  life  to  save  you.  O  my 
brother  ! "      f 

Amdlie  was  greatly  moved  and  for  a  time  unable  to 
speak  further,  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  sob- 
bed audibly.  Her  love  gained  the  victory  where  remon- 
strance and  opposition  would  have  lost  it. 

"You  have  won  the  day,  Amelie  !  "  said  he,  " I  will  not 
go  to  the  village  except  with  you  ;  you  are  the  best  an  J 
truest  girl  in  dl  Christendom  !  Why  is  there  no  olh  r  like 
you  ?  If  there  were,  this  curse  had  not  come  upon  me,  nor 
this  trial  upon  you,  Amelie  !  you  are  my  good  angel  and  I 
will  try,  O  so  faithfully  try  to  be  guided  by  you  !  If  you 
fail  you  will  at  least  have  done  all,  and  more  than  your  duiy 
towards  your  erring  brother." 

"  Le  Brun  !  "  cried  he  to  the  groom  who  had  brought  his 
horse  and  to  whom  he  thr  '\v  the  whip  which  had  made  such 
havoc  among  the  flowers,  **  lead  Black  Caesar  to  the  stable 
again  !  and  hark  you  !  when  I  bid  you  bring  him  out  in 
the  early  morning  another  time,  lead  him  to  me  unbridled 
and  unsaddled,  with  only  a  halter  on  his  head,  that  I  may 
ride  as  a  clown,  not  as  a  gentleman  ! " 

Le  Brun  stared  at  this  speech  and  finally  regarded  it  as 
a  capital  joke,  or  else  as  he  whispered  to  his  fellow  grooms 
in  the  stable,  "  He  believed  his  young  master  had  gone 
mad ! " 

'Tierre  Philibert,"  continued  Amelie," 's  .lo-vn  at  the  sal- 
mon pool.  Let  us  join  him,  Le  Gardeur,  'i\.i(  bkf  iiim-goou 
morning  once  more  at  Tilly." 

Amdie,  overjoyed  at  her  \'ictory,  tripped  gaily  by  the  side 
ot  I  'ir  brother,  and  presently  two  friendly  hands,  the  hands 
of  Y-K^rr-^  Philibert    were  extended  to  greet  her  and  Le 

The  hand  of  /  -at^lie  was  retained  for  a  moment  in  that 
of  Pierrt  Philibert  sending  the  blood  to  her  cheeks.  There 
is  a  magnetic  touch  in  loving  fingers  which  is  never  mistak- 


A  DAY  AT  iV/A  MAXOK  UOCSE 


»^ 


his 


goo  a 

side 
lands 
idLe 

that 
'here 
dstak 


in,  thougli  thtir  contact  l>!  but  for  a  second  of  time.  It 
anticipates  the  strong  grasp  of  love  which  will  ere  long«Bi- 
brace  body  and  .>>oii)  in  adamantine  chains  of  a  union  tucA 
to  he  broken  e  "n  by  dt  all  , 

If  Pierre  PuililKrt  retailed  the  h  md  of  Am^lic  for  one 
second  longei  ^han  imic  friendship  ic{|uire(i  of  him,  no  one 
perceived  it  but  God  and  themscivc  Pierre  fell  it  like  n 
revelation.  The  hard  of  Amt^lie  yielding  timidly  hut  not 
unwillingly  to  his  manly  grasp,  lie  looked  in  her  face. 
Her  eyes  were  averted  and  she  withdrew  her  hind  quietly 
but  gently,  as  not  upbraiding  him. 

That  moment  of  time  flashed  a  new  iurtuence  upon  both 
their  lives.  It  was  the  silent  recognition  that  each  was 
henceforth  conscious  of  the  special  regard  ot  the  other. 

There  are  moments  which  contain  the  whole  quin  es- 
sence of  our  lives — ^pur  loves,  our  hopes,  our  [ailures,  in  one 
concentrated  drop  of  happiness  or  misery.  We  look  be- 
hind us  and  see  that  our  whole  past  has  U  \  up  to  that  infinit- 
essimal  fraction  of  time,  which  is  the  consummation  of  the 
past  in  the  present,  the  end  of  the  old  and  the  beginning  of 
the  new.  We  look  forward  from  the  vant  is;e  ground  of  the 
present  and  the  world  of  a  new  revelation  .ies  before  us. 

Pierre  Philibert  was  conscious  from  that  moment 
that  Amdlie  de  Repentigny  was  not  indilterent  to  him.. 
Nay  he  had  a  ground  of  hope  that  in  time  she  would 
\isten  to  his  pleadings  and  at  last  bestow  on  him  the  gift 
of  her  priceless  love.  •-■\<.\ 

His  hopes  were  sure  hopes,  although  he  did  not  dare  to 
give  himself  the  sweet  assurance  of  it,  nor  did  Amdlie  her- 
self as  yet  suspect  how  far  her  heart  was  irrevocably  wed- 
ded to  Pierre  Philibert 

Deep  as  was  the  impression  of  that  momen;  upon  both 
of  them,  neither  Philibert  nor  Amelie  yielded  o  its  influ- 
ence more  than  to  lapse  into  a  momentary  siknce  which 
was  relieved  by  Le  Gardeur,  who  suspecting  not  the  cause, 
nay,  thinking  it  was  on  his  account  that  his  companions 
were  so  unaccountably  grave  and  still,  kindly  endeavored 
to  force  the  conversation  upon  a  number  of  interesting  top- 
ics and  directed  the  attention  of  Philibert  to  various  points 
of  he  landscape  which  suggested  reminiscences  of  his  for- 
mer visits  to  Tilly. 

The  equilibrium  of  conversation  was  restored  and  the 
three  sitting  down  on  a  long  flat  stor  e,  abouMerwhich  had 


■&^ 


300 


r//£  CHIEN  D'OR. 


In 


i'* : 


f  3f  «  'f 


dropped  millions  of  years  before  out  of  an  iceberg  as  it  sailed 
slowly  over  the  glacial  ocean  which  then  covered  the  place  of 
New  France,  commenced  to  talk  over  Amdlie's  programme 
of  the  previous  night,  the  amusements  she  had  planned 
for  the  week,  the  friends  in  all  quarters  they  were  to  visit, 
and  the  friends  from  all  quarters  they  were  to  receive  at 
the  Manor  House.  These  topics  formed  a  source  of  fruit- 
ful comment,  as  conversation  on  our  friends  always  does 
If  the  sun  shone  hot  and  fierce  at  noontide  in  the  dog  days 
they  would  enjoy  the  cool  shade  of  the  arbors  with  books 
and  conversation.  They  would  ride  in  the  forest  or  em 
bark  in  their  canoes  for  a  row  up  the  bright  little  river, 
there  would  be  dinners  and  diversions  for  the  day ;  music 
and  dancing  for  the  night. 

The  spirits  of  the  inmates  of  the  Manor  House  could 
not  help  but  be  kept  up  by  these  expedients,  and  Am^lie 
flattered  herself  that  she  would  quite  succeed  in  dissipat- 
ing the  gloomy  thoughts  which  occupied  the  mind  of 
Le  Gardeur. 

They  sat  on  the  stone  by  the  brook  side  for  an  hour, 
conversing  pleasantly  while  they  watched  the  speckled  trout 
dart  like  silver  arrows  spotted  with  blood  in  the  clear  pool. 

Le  Gardeur  strove  to  be  gay,  and  teased  Amelie  by 
playfully  criticising  her  programme,  and  half  in  earnest, 
half  in  jest,  arguing  for  the  superior  attractions  of  the 
palace  of  the  Intendant,  to  those  of  the  Manor  House  of 
Tilly.  He  saw  the  water  standing  in  her  eyes,  when  a  con- 
sciousness of  what  must  be  her  feelings  seized  him.  He 
drew  her  to  his  side,  asked  her  forgiveness,  and  wished  fire 
were  set  to  the  Palace  and  himself  in  the  midst  of  it.  He 
deserved  it  for  wounding,  even  in  jest,  the  heart  of  the 
best  and  noblest  sister  in  the  world. 

"I  am  not  wounded,  dear  Le  Gardeur,"  replied  she, 
softly  ;  "  I  knew  you  were  only  in  jest ;  my  foolish  heart 
is  so  sensitive  to  all  mention  of  the  Palace  and  its  occu- 
pants in  connection  with  you,  that  I  could  not  even  take  in 
jest  what  was  so  like  truth." 

"  Forgive  me,  I  will  never  mention  the  Palace  to  you 
again,  Am61ie  I  except  to  repeat  the  malediction  I  have 
bestowed  upon  it  a  thousand  times  an  hour,  since  I  return- 
ed to  Tilly." 

"  My  own  brave  brother !  "  exclaimed  she,  embracing 
him,  "  now  I  am  happy  !  " 


A  DAY  AT  THE  MAXOR  HOU^iE. 


301 


The  shrill  notes  of  a  bugle  were  heard  sounding  a  mil* 
ftary  call  to  breakfast.  It  was  the  special  privilege  of  X\ 
old  servitor  of  the  family  who  haJ  been  a  trumpeter  in  the 
troop  of  the  Seigneur  of  Tilly,  o  summon  the  family  oi 
the  Manor  House  in  that  manner  to  breakfast  ouly.  The 
old  trumpeter  had  solicited  long  to  be  allowed  to  souiid 
the  reveille  at  break  of  day,  but  the  good  Lady  de  Tilly 
had  too  much  regard  for  the  repose  of  the  inmates  of  her 
house  to  consent  to  any  such  untimely  waking  of  them 
from  their  morning  slumbers.  "^   ^ 

The  old  familiar  call  was  recognized  by  Philibert,  who 
reminded  Am^lie  of  a  day  when  Eolus  (ihe  ancient  trum- 
peter bore  that  windy  soubriquet)  had  accompanied  them 
on  a  long  ramble  in  the  forest, — how  the  day,  being  warm, 
the  old  man  fell  asleep  under  a  comfortable  shade,  while 
the  three  children  straggled  off  into  the  depths  of  the 
woods,  where  they  were  speedily  lost. 

"  I  remember  it  like  yesterday,  Pierre,"  exclaimed 
Amelie,  sparkling  at  the  reminscence  ;  "  I  recollect  how 
I  wept  and  wrung  my  hands,  tired  out,  hungry  and  forlorn, 
with  my  dress  in  tatters,  and  one  shoe  left  in  a  miry  place  ! 
I  recollect,  moreover,  that  my  protectors  were  in  almost 
as  bad  a  plight  as  myself,  yet  they  chivalrously  carried  the 
little  maiden  by  turns  or  together  made  a  Queen's  chair 
for  me  with  their  locked  hands,  until  we  all  broke  down 
together  and  sat  crying  at  the  foot  of  a  iree,  reminding  one 
another  of  the  babes  in  the  wood,  and  recounting  stories 
of  bears  which  had  devoured  lost  naughty  children  in  the 
forest.  I  remember  how  we  all  knelt  down  at  last  and  re- 
cited our  prayers  until  suddenly  we  heard  the  bugle  of 
Kolas  sounding  close  by  us.  The  poor  old  man,  wild  with 
rapture  at  having  found  us,  kissed  and  shook  us  so  violent- 
ly that  we  almost  wished  ourselves  lost  in  the  forest  again." 

The  recollection  of  this  adventure  was  very  pleasing  to 
Pierre.  He  recalled  every  incident  of  it  perfectly,  and  all 
three  of  them  seemed  for  a  while  transported  back  into 
the  fairy  land  of  their  happy  childhood. 

The  bugle  call  of  old  Eol/js  again  sounded  and  the 
three  friends  rose  and  proceede  1  towards  the  house. 

The  little  brook — it  had  never  looked  so  bright  before 
to  Amdlie — sparkled  with  joy  like  her  own  eyes.  The 
orioles  and  blackbirds  warbled  in  the  bushes,  and  the  in* 
sects  which  love  warmth  and  sunshine  chirmed  and  cbir 


502 


THE  CMIEND'OR. 


I; 

i 


:3 

It- 


niped  among  the  ferns  and  branches,  as  Am^lie,  Piene 
and  Le  Gardeur  walked  home  along  the  green  foot  path 
under  the  avenue  of  ehns  that  led  to  the  Chateau. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  received  them  with  many  pleasant 
\iords.  Leading  them  into  the  breakfast  room,  she  con- 
giatulated  Le  Gardeur  upon  the  satisfaction  it  afforded  her 
to  see  her  dear  children,  so  she  called  thena,  once  more 
seated  round  her  board  in  health  and  happiness.  Amdie 
cobred.  slightly,  and  looked  at  her  aunt  as  if  questioning 
whether  she  included  Pb  libert  among  her  children. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  guessed  her  thought,  but  pretending 
not  to,  bade  Felix  proceed  with  the  breakfast  and  turned 
the  conversation  to  topics  more  general.  "  The  Iroquois," 
she  said  "  had  left  the  Chaudiere  and  gone  further  East- 
ward ;  the  news  had  just  been  brought  in  by  messengers  to 
the  seigneury,  and  it  was  probable,  nay,  certain,  that  they 
would  not  be  heard  of  again.  Therefore  Le  Gardeur  and 
Pierre  Philibert  were  under  no  necessity  of  leaving  the 
Manor  to  search  for  the  savages,  but  could  arrange  with 
Amdlie,  for  as  much  enjoyment  as  they  could  crowd  into 
these  summer  days. 

"  It  is  all  arranged,  aunt!  "  replied  Amdlie.  We  have 
held  a  Cour  Pknitre  this  morning,  and  made  a  code  of  laws 
for  our  kingdom  of  cocagne  during  the  next  eight  days. 
It  needs  only  the  consent  of  our  Suzeraine  Lady  to  be  at 
once  acted  upon." 

"And  your  Suzeraine  Lady  gives  her  consent  without 
further  questioning,  Amdlie  !  although  I  confess  you  have 
an  admirable  way  of  carrying  your  point,  Am^lie,"  said  her 
aunt,  laughing,  "  you  resolve  first  what  you  will  do,  and 
ask  my  approbation  after." 

"  Yes,  aunt,  that  is  our  way  in  the  kingdom  of  pleasure! 
And  we  begin  this  morning;  Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre 
will  ride  to  the  village  to  meet  our  cousin  H^loise,  from 
Lotbinifere." 

"  But  you  will  accompany  us,  Am^lie  1 "  exclaimed  Le 
Gardeur.  "  I  will  not  go  else — it  was  a  bargain  I  " 
,  •  "O,  I  did  not  count  myself  for  anything  but  an  em 
barrassment !  of  course  I  shall  go  with  you,  Le  Gardeur, 
tut  our  cousin  Hdloise  de  Lotbinifere  is  coming  to  see  you, 
not  me.  She  lost  her  heart,"  remarked  she  turning  to 
Pierre,  "  when  she  was  last  here,  it  the  least  of  St.  John, 
and  is  coming  to  seek  it  again.' 


»> 


il'M 


■  '*"   'S   ■>'  .■ 


A  DAY  AT  THE  MANOR  HOUSE. 


303 


"Ah  1  how  was  that,  Aindlie  ?  "  asked  Philibert,  **  I  re- 
member the  lovely  face,  the  chestnut  curls  and  bright  black 
eyes  of  H^loise  de  Lotbinifere.  And  has  her's  really  gone 
the  way  of  all  hearts  ?" 

"  Oi  all  good  hearts,  Pierre — but  you  shall  hear  If  ycTi 
will  be  good  and  listen.  She  saw  the  portraits  of  you  and 
Lo  Gardeur  one  day  hung  in  the  boudoir  of  my  aunt, 
lldloise  professed  that  she  admired  both  until  she  could 
not  tell  which  she  liked  best,  and  left  me  to  decide." 

"Ah  !  and  which  of  us  did  you  give  to  the  fair  H^loise  ? " 
demanded  Philibert  with  a  sudden  interest. 

"  Not  the  Abdlard  she  wanted,  you  may  be  sure,  Pierre," 
exclaimed  Le  Gardeur,  "  she  gave  me  and  kept  you  I  It 
was  a  case  of  clear  misappropriation." 

"  No,  brother,  not  so  ! "  replied  Amdlie,  hastily,  "  Hd- 
loise  had  tried  the  charm  of  the  three  caskets  with  the 
three  names  without  result,  and  at  last  watched  in  the 
church  porch  on  the  eve  of  St.  John,  to  see  the  shade  of 
her  destined  lover  pass  by,  and  lo,  He'loise  vowed  she 
saw  me,  and  no  one  else,  pass  into  the  church  ! " 

"Ah  !  I  suppose  it  was  you  ?  It  is  no  rare  thing  for 
you  to  visit  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  on  the  eve  of  St.  John. 
Pierre  Philibert,  do  you  recollect  ?  O,  not  as  I  do,  dear 
friend,"  continued  Le  Gardeur  with  a  sudden  change  of 
voice,  which  was  now  filled  with  emotion,  "  it  was  on  the 
day  of  St.  John  you  saved  my  poor  worthless  life.  We  are 
not  ungrateful  \  She  has  kept  the  eve  of  St.  John  in  the 
church  ever  since  in  commemoration  of  that  event." 

"  Brother,  we  have  much  to  thank  heaven  for !  "  replied 
Amdlie,  blushing  deeply  at  his  words,  "  and  I  trust  we  shall 
never  be  ungrateful  for  its  favor  and  protection." 

Amdiie  shied  from  a  compliment  like  a  young  colt  at 
its  own  shadow.  She  avoided  further  reference  to  the  sub- 
ieci  broached  by  Le  Gardeur,  by  saying  "  It  was  I  whon 
Heloise  saw  pass  into  the  church.  I  never  explained  the 
mystery  to  her  and  she  is  not  sure  yet  whether  it  was  my 
wraith  or  myself  who  gave  her  that  fright  on  St.  John's 
eve.  But  I  claimed  her  heart  as  one  anthorized  to  take 
it,  and  if  I  could  not  marry  her  myself  I  claimed  the  right 
to  give  her  to  whomsoever  I  pleased,  and  I  gave  her  to  you, 
Le  Gardeur,  but  you  would  not  accept  the  sweetest  girl  in 
'•'•^w  France!" 

"Thanks,  Amdlie,"  replied  he,  laughing,  yet  wincmg 


l**" 


304 


THE  CHI  EN  DOR. 


ii.- 


13'* 


I     ,  ♦ 


\A 


IT'!      , 
IK. 

i; 


W^^ 


"  Hdloise  is  indeed  all  you  say,  the  sweetest  girl  in  Nevi 
France  1  But  she  was  too  angelical  for  Le  Gardeur  d« 
Repentigny.  Pshaw  I  you  make  me  say  foolish  things, 
Am^lie.  But  in  penance  for  my  slight,  I  will  be  doubly 
attentive  to  my  fair  cousin  de  Lotbini^re  to-day,  I  will  at 
once  order  the  horses  and  we  will  ride  down  to  the  /illago 
to  meet  her." 

Arrayed  in  a  simple  riding  dress  of  dark  blue,  which 
became  her  as  did  everything  else  which  she  wore — Am^Iie's 
very  attire  seemed  instinct  with  the  living  graces  and 
charms  of  its  wearer.  She  mounted  her  horse,  accepting 
the  aid  of  Philibert  to  do  so,  although  when  alone  she 
usually  sprang  to  the  saddle  herself,  saluting  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  who  waved  her  hand  to  them  from  the  lawn.  The 
three  friends  slowly  cantered  down  the  broad  avenue  of  the 
park  toward  the  village  of  Tilly. 

Amdlie  rode  well.  The  exercise  and  the  pure  air 
brought  the  fresh  color  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  animation  as  she  conversed  gaily  with  her  brother  and 
Philibert. 

They  speedily  reached  the  village,  where  they  met  H^- 
loise  de  Lotbinifere,  who  rushing  to  Amelie  kissed  her  with 
effusion,  and  as  she  greeted  Le  Gardeur  looked  up  as  if 
she  would  not  have  refused  a  warmer  salutation  than  the 
kind  shake  of  the  hand  with  which  he  received  her.  She 
welcomed  Philibert  with  glad  surprise,  recognizing  him  at 
once,  and  giving  a  glance  at  Amdlie,  which  expressed  an 
ocean  of  unspoken  meaning  and  sympathy. 

Hdloise  was  beautiful,  gay,  spirited,  full  of  good  humor, 
and  sensibility.  Her  heart  had  long  been  devoted  to  Le 
Gardeur,  but  never  meeting  with  any  response  to  her  shy 
advances,  which  were  like  the  wheeling  of  a  dove  round 
and  round  its  wished-for  mate,  she  had  long  concluded 
with  a  sigh  that  for  her  the  soul  of  Le  Gardeur  was  insen- 
sible to  any  touch  of  a  warmer  regard  than  sprang  from 
the  most  sincere  friendship  and  regard. 

Amdlie  saw  and  understood  all  this  ;  she  loved  Hdoise, 
and  in  her  quiet  ^ay  had  tried  to  awaken  a  kinder  feeling 
for  her  in  the  heart  of  her  brother.  As  one  fights  fire  with 
fire  in  the  great  conflagrations  01  the  prairies,  Amelie  hoped 
also  to  combat  the  influence  of  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  by 
raising  up  a  potent  rival  in  the  fair  He'loise  de  Lotbiniere, 
but  she  soon  found  how  futile  were  her  endeavors.    The 


iVi 


"%%  i 


A  DA}   AT  THE  AtAXOK  HOUSE. 


30$ 


heart  of  Le  Gardeur  was  wedded  to  the  idol  of  his  fancy, 
and  no  woman  on  earth  could  win  him  away  from  Ang(^lique. 

Amdlie  comforted  H^loise  by  the  gift  of  her  whole  con- 
fidence and  sympathy.  The  poor  disappointed  girl  ac> 
cepted  the  decree  of  fate,  known  to  none  other  but  Am^lie, 
while  in  revenge  upon  herself — a  thing  not  rare  in  proud, 
sensitive  natures — she  appeared  in  society  more  gay,  more 
radiant  and  full  of  mirth  than  ever  before.  Hdloise  hia 
the  asp  in  her  bosom,  but  so  long  as  its  bite  was  unseen 
she  laughed  cruelly  at  the  pain  of  it,  and  deceived  as  she 
thought  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  to  her  suffering. 

The  arrival  of  Hdloise  de  Lotbinifere  was  followed  by 
that  of  a  crowd  of  other  visitors,  who  came  to  the  Manor 
House  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  family  on  their  return 
home,  and  especially  to  greet  Le  Gardeur  and  Colonel 
Philibert,  who  was  well  remembered,  and  whom  the  busy 
tongues  of  gossip  already  set  down  as  a  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  the  young  chitelaine. 

The  report  of  what  was  said  by  so  many  whispering 
friends,  was  quickly  carried  to  the  ear  of  Amdlie  by  some 
of  her  light-hearted  companions.  She  blushed  at  the  accu- 
sation, and  gently  denied  all  knowledge  of  it,  laughing  as 
a  woman  will  laugh  who  carries  a  hidden  joy  or  a  hidden 
sorrow  in  her  heart,  neither  of  which  she  cares  to  reveal  to 
the  world's  eye.  Amdlie  listened  to  the  pleasant  tale  with 
secret  complaisance,  for  despite  her  tremor  and  confusion 
it  was  pleasant  to  hear  that  Pierre  Philibert  loved  her,  and 
was  considered  a  suitor  for  her  hand.  It  was  sweet  to 
know  that  the  world  believed  she  was  his  choice. 

She  threaded  every  one  of  these  precious  words,  like  a 
chaplet  of  pearls  upon  the  strings  of  her  heart — contem- 
plating  them,  counting  them  over  and  over  in  secret,  with 
a  joy  known  only  to  herself  and  to  God,  whom  she  prayed 
to  guide  her  right  whatever  might  happen. 

That  something  would  happen  ere  long,  she  felt  a  pre 
monition,  which  at  times  made  her  grave  in  the  midst  of 
her  hopes  and  anticipations. 

The  days  passed  gaily  at  Tilly.  Am61ie  carried  out 
the  elaborate  programme  which  she  had  arranged  for  the 
amusement  of  Le  Gardeur  is  well  as  for  the  pleasures  of 
her  guests. 

Every  day  brought  a  change  and  a  fresh  enjoyment. 
The  mornings  were  devoted  by  the  gentlemen  to  hunting, 

20 


% 


rr 


!■? 


H. 


)  : 


*„ 


306 


T/fE  CI/IE/^  D'OR. 


fishing,  and  other  sport  By  the  ladies  to  re  uling,  m  isic, 
drawing,  needlework  or  the  arrangements  of  dress  and 
ornaments.  In  the  afternoons  all  met  together,  and  the 
social  evening  was  spent  e.ther  at  the  Manor  House  or 
some  neighboring  mansion.  The  hospitality  of  all  was 
alike,  a  profusion  of  social  feeling  formed  at  that  Jay,  a 
marked  characteristic  of  the  people  of  New  France. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  spent  an  hour  or  two  each  day  ^^ith 
her  trusty  land  Stewart  or  Bailli,  Master  Cotd,  in  attending 
to  the  multifarious  business  of  her  Seigneurie.  The  feudal 
law  of  New  France  imposed  great  duties,  and  much  labor 
upon  the  Lords  of  the  Manor,  by  giving  them  an  interest 
in  every  man's  estate,  and  making  them  participators  in 
every  transfer  of  land  throughout  a  wide  district  of  coun- 
try. A  person  who  acquired  by  purchase  or  otherwise,  the 
lands  of  a  censitaire  or  vassal,  was  held  to  perform  foi  et 
hommage  for  the  lands  so  acquired,  and  to  acquit  all  other 
feudal  dues  owing  by  the  original  holder  to  his  Seigneur. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  fair  summer  days  at  Tilly, 
that  Sieur  Tranchelot,  having  acquired  the  farm  of  the 
Bocage,  a  strip  of  land  a  furlong  wide,  and  a  league  in 
depth,  with  a  pleasant  frontage  on  the  broad  St.  Lawrence, 
the  new  censitaire  came  as  in  duty  bound  to  render  foi 
et  hommage  for  the  same  to  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  of  Tilly, 
according  to  the  law  and  custom  of  the  Seigneurie. 

At  the  hour  of  noon,  Lady  de  Tilly  with  Le  Gardeur, 
Amdlie  and  Pierre  Philibert  in  full  dress  stood  on  a  dais 
in  the  great  Hall,  Master  Cote  sat  at  a  table  on  the  floor 
in  front,  with  his  great  clasped  book  of  record  open  before 
him.  A  drawn  sword  lay  upon  the  table,  and  a  cup  of 
wine  stood  by  the  side  of  it.  ;   , 

When  all  was  arranged,  three  loud  knocks  were  heard 
on  the  great  door,  and  the  Sieur  Tranchelot  dressed  in  his 
holiday  costume  but  bareheaded  and  without  sword  or 
spurs,  not  being  gentilhomme  he  was  not  entitled  to  wear 
them,  entered  the  door,  which  was  ceremoniously  opened 
for  him,  by  the  major  domo.  He  was  gravely  led  up  to 
the  dais  where  stood  the  Lady  of  the  Manor,  by  the  Stewart 
bearing  his  wand  of  office. 

The  worthy  censitaire  knelt  down  befoia  the  lady  and 
repeated  her  name  three  times,  pronounced  the  formula  of 
foi  et  hommage^  prescribed  by  the  law,  as  owing  to  the 
Lords  of  the  Manor  of  Tilly. 


A  DAY  AT  THE  AfAf^OR  HOUSE. 


307 


-  My  Lady  de  Tilly  !  My  Lady  de  Tilly  !  My  Lady  de 
Tilly  1  I  render  you  fealty  and  homage  due  to  you  on  ac- 
count of  my  lands  of  the  Bocage  whicli  belong  to  mc,  by 
virtue  of  the  deed  executed  by  the  Sieur  Marcel  before  the 
worthy  notary  Jean  Pothier  dit  Robin,  on  tiie  day  of  Palms 
1748,  and  I  avow  my  willingness  to  acquit  the  Scigneurial 
and  feudal  cms  et  rentes  and  all  other  lawful  dues,  when- 
soever payable  by  me ;  beseeching  you  to  be  my  gocd  1 
liege  lady,  and  to  admit  me  to  the  said  fealty  and  homage  1 " 
The  lady  accepted  the  homage  of  Sieur  Tranchelot, 
gave  him  the  cup  of  wine  to  drink  when  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  ordered  him  to  be  generously  entertained  by  her 
major  domo,  and  sent  back  to  the  Bocage  rejoicing.  S  > 
the  days  passed  by  in  alternation  of  business  and  pastime, 
but  all  made  a  pleasure  far  the  agreeable  inmates  of  tho 
Manoi  House. 

Philibert  gave  himself  up  to  the  delirum  of  enchant- 
ment, which  the  presence  of  Amdlie  threw  over  him.  He 
never  tired  of  watching  the  fresh  developments  of  her 
gloriously  endowed  nature.  Her  beauty  rare  as  it  was, 
grew  day  by  day  upon  his  wonder  and  admiration,  as  he 
saw  how  fully  it  corresponded  to  the  innate  grace  and 
nobility  of  her  mind. 

She  was  so  fresh  of  thought,  so  free  from  all  afTectation, 
so  gentle  and  winning  in  all  her  ways,  and  sooth  to  say 
so  happy  in  the  admiration  of  Philibert,  which  she  was 
very  conscious  of  now.  It  darted  from  his  eyes  at  every 
look,  although  no  word  of  it  had  yet  passed  his  lips.  The 
radiance  of  her  spirits  flashed  like  sunbeams  through  every 
part  of  the  old  Manor  House. 

Am^lie  was  carried  away  in  a  flood  of  new  emotion, 
she  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  discreetly  angry  with  herself 
for  admitting,  so  unreservedly  the  pleasure  she  felt  h* 
Pierre's  admiration,  she  placed  her  soul  on  a  rack  of  self 
questioning  torture  and  every  inquisition  she  made  of  her 
heart,  returned  the  self  sam  t  answer.  "  She  loved  Pierre 
Philibert ! " 

It  was  in  vain  she  accused  herself  of  possible  impro- 
priety, that  it  was  bold,  unmaidenly,  censurable,  nay,  per- 
haps sinful,  to  give  her  heart  before  it  had  been  asked  for, 
but  if  she  had  to  die  for  it,  she  could  not  conceal  the  truth, 
that  she  loved  Pierre  Philibert !  "  I  ought  to  be  angry  with 
myself,"  said  she.    "  I  try  to  be  so,  but  I  cannot  1    Why  ? ' 


3o8 


THE  CHI  EN  a  On. 


■e'  1 


It;  :S 
I' 

1'^  .; 


i 


>M 


> 


"1. 


"  Why  ? "  Am^lie  solved  the  query  as  every  trut 
woman  does,  who  asks  herself  why  slje  loves  one  man 
rather  than  another  I  "  Because  he  has  chosen  me  out  in 
preference  to  all  others,  to  be  the  treasure  keeper  of  his 
aflfections !  I  am  proud,"  continued  Amt^lie,  "  that  he 
gives  his  love  to  me,  to  me  !  unworthy  as  I  am  of  such  pre- 
ference !  I  am  no  better  than  others."  Ain«ilie  was  a 
true  woman,  proud  as  an  Empress  before  other  men.  She 
was  humble  and  lowly  as  the  Madonna,  in  the  presence  of 
him  whom  she  felt  was  by  right  of  lo\e,  lord  and  master  of 
her  affections. 

Amdlie  could  not  overcome  a  feeling  of  tremor  in  the 
presence  of  Pierre  since  she  made  this  discovery.  Her 
cheek  warmed  with  an  incipient  flush,  when  his  ardent  eyes 
glanced  at  her  too  eloquently.  She  knew  what  was  in  his 
heart,  and  once  or  twice,  when  casually  alone  with  Philibert, 
she  saw  his  lips  quivering  under  a  hard  restraint  to  keep 
in  the  words,  the  dear  words,  she  thought,  which  would 
one  day  burst  forth  in  a  flood  of  passionate  eloquence, 
overwhelming  all  denial,  and  make  her  his  own  for  ever. 

Time  and  tide,  which  come  to  all,  once  in  our  lives  as 
the  poet  says,  and  which  must  be  taken  at  their  flood  to 
lead  to  fortune,  came  at  length  to  Amelie  de  Repentigny. 

It  came  suddenly  and  in  an  unlooked  for  hour,  the 
great  question  of  questions  to  her  as  to  every  woman. 

The  hour  of  birth  and  the  hour  of  death  are  in  God's 
hand,  but  the  hour  when  a  woman  yielding  to  the  strong 
enfolding  arm  of  a  man  who  loves  her,  falters  forth  an 
avowal  of  her  love,  and  plights  her  troth,  and  vows  to  be 
one  with  him  till  death,  God  leaves  that  question  to  be 
decided  by  her  own  heart.  His  blessing  rests  upon  her 
choice,  if  pure  love  guides,  and  reason  enlightens  affec- 
tion. His  curse  infallibly  follows  every  faithless  pledge 
where  no  heart  is,  every  union  that  is  not  the  marriage  of 
love  and  truth.  These  alone  can  be  married,  and  where 
these  are  absent,  there  is  no  marriage  at  all  in  the  face 
ot  Heaven,  and  but  the  simulation  of  one  on  earth,  an 
unequal  yoking  which  if  man  will  not  sunder — God  will  at 
last,  where  there  is  neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage 
but  all  are  as  his  angels. 

The  day  appointed  for  the  long  planned  excursion  to  the 
beautiful  Lake  of  Tilly  came  round.  A  numerous  and 
cheerful  water-party  left  the  Manor   House  in  the  bright 


A  DAY  Al  THh  MANOR  HOUSE. 


3P9 


cool  morning  to  spend  the  day  gypsying  in  the  shadf 
woodi  and  quiet  recesses  of  the  little  lake.  They  were  aU 
there.  Am^lie's  invitation  to  her  your  friends  far  and 
near  had  been  eagerly  accepted.  Half  a  dozen  boats  and 
canoes  filled  with  light-hearted  companions  and  with 
ample  provisions  for  the  day,  shot  up  the  narrow  river, 
and  after  a  rapid  and  merry  voyage,  disembarked  their 
passengers  and  were  drawn  up  on  the  shores  and  islands 
of  the  lake. 

That  bright  morning  was  followed  by  a  sunny  day,  of 
blue  skies,  warm  yet  breezy.  The  old  oaks  wove  a  carpet 
of  shadows,  changing  the  pattern  of  its  tissue  every  hour 
upon  the  leaf-strewn  floor  of  the  forest.  The  fresh  pines 
shed  their  resinous  perfume  on  every  side  in  the  still  shade, 
but  out  in  the  sunshine  the  birds  sang  merrily  all  day. 

The  groups  of  merry-makers  spent  a  glorious  day  of 
pleasure  by  the  side  of  the  clear  smooth  lake,  fishing  and 
junketting  on  shore  or  paddling  their  birch  canoes  over 
its  waters  among  the  little  islands  which  dotted  its  sur- 
face. 

Day  was  fast  fading  away  into  a  soft  twilight,  the 
shadows  which  had  been  drawing  out  longer  and  longer  as 
the  sun  declined,  lay  now  in  all  their  length,  like  bands 
stretched  over  the  greensward.  The  breeze  went  down 
with  the  sun,  and  the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake  lay  like  a 
sheet  of  molten  gold  reflecting  the  parting  glories  of  the 
clay  that  still  lit  up  the  western  sky. 

A  few  stars  began  to  twinkle  here  and  there  ;  they 
were  not  destined  to  shine  brilliantly  to-night,  for  they 
would  ere  long  be  eclipsed  by  the  splendor  of  the  full 
moon,  which  was  just  at  hand,  rising  in  a  hemisphere  of 
light,  which  stood  like  a  royal  pavilion  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. From  it  in  a  few  minutes  would  emerge  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  and  mildly  replace  the  vanishing  glory  of  the 
clay. 

The  company  after  a  repast  under  the  trees,  rose  full 
of  life  and  merriment  and  rearranged  themselves  into  little 
groups  and  couples  as  chance  or  inclination  led  thenir 
They  trooped  down  to  the  beach  to  embark  in  their  canoes 
for  a  last  joyous  cruise  round  the  lake  and  its  fairy  islands, 
by  moonlight,  before  returning  home. 

Amid  a  shower  of  lively  conversation  and  laughter,  the 
ladies  seated  themselves  in  the  light  canoes  which  danced 


310 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


\.  ■ 


w 


15 -■ 


like  corks  upon  the  water  The  gentlemen  took  tht 
paddles,  and  expert  as  Indians  in  the  use  of  them,  swept 
out  over  the  surface  of  the  lake  which  was  now  all  aglow 
with  the  bright  crimson  of  sunset. 

In  the  bow  of  one  of  the  canoes  sat  the  Arion  of  Tilly, 
Jean  La  Marche,  a  flute  or  two  accompanied  his  violin, 
and  a  guitar  tinkled  sweetly  under  the  fingers  of  Il^loise 
de  Lotbinifere.  They  played  an  old  air,  while  Jeai.  led  tha 
chorus  in  splendid  voice. 


r-'^v 


"  Nous  irons  sur  I'eau, 
Nous  y  prom-promener. 
Nous  irons  jout  r  dans  Tialc." 


The  voices  of  all  united  in  the  song  as  the  canoes 
swept  away  round  a  little  promontory  crowned  with  three 
pine  trees  which  stood  up  in  the  blaze  of  the  setting  sun, 
like  the  three  children  in  the  fiery  furnace,  or  the  sacred 
bush  that  burned  and  was  not  consumed. 

Faint  and  fainter,  the  echoes  repeated  the  receding 
harmony,  until  at  last  they  died  away.  A  solemn  silence 
succeeded.  A  languor  like  that  of  the  Lotus-eaters  crept 
over  the  face  of  nature  and  softened  the  heart  to  unwonted 
tenderness.  It  was  the  hour  of  gentle  thoughts,  of  low 
spoken  confidences,  and  love  between  young  and 
sympathizing  souls,  who  alone  with  t'l  :mselves  and  God 
confess  their  mutual  love  and  invoke  his  blessing  upon 
it..   ...     -   - 


•\ 

T( 

W'a} 

U  i 

10    r.-'; 

' 

Am 

;■-> 

J^<^.;jSt 

1 

-Vi-i  i 

?           ■ 

CHAPTER  XXX. 


FELICES  TER   El    AMPLIUS, 


i!ii 


.)  t 


^''  Amelie,  by  accident  or  by  contrivance  of  her  fair 
companions,  girls  are  so  wily  r.nd  sympathetic  with  each 


other,  had  been  left  seated  by  the  side  of  Philibert,  on  the 
twisted  roots  of  a  gigantic  oak  forming  a  rude  bui  simple 
chair  fit  to  enthrone  the  king  of  the  forest  and  his  dryad 
queen.  No  sound  came  to  break  the  quiet  of  the  evening 
hour  save  the  monotonous  plaint  of  a  whip-poor-will  in  a 


p:lll:i,i- 


tEUCES  TEE  Li  AMj     fUX 


jtr 


distant  brake,  and  the  ceaseless  cliin  <)i  iiise>  s  ariK  f 
the  leafy  boughs  and  down  in  the  ferns  ihat  cluntered  o 
the  knolls  round  about. 

Philiberl  let  fall  upon  his  knee  the  book  which  In  d 
been  reading.  His  voice  falten-d,  he  could  not  cotiii 
without  emotion  the  touching  talc  of  Paulo  and  Francesca 
da  Rimini.  Amelic's  eyes  were  sulTused  with  tears  oi 
pity,  for  her  heart  had  beat  time  to  the  music  of  Dante's 
immortal  verse  as  it  dropped  in  mensured  cadence  from 
the  lips  of  Philibert. 

She  had  read  the  pathetic  story  before,  but  never 
comprehended  until  now,  the  weakness  which  is  the 
strength  of  love.  O  blessed  paradox  of  a  woman's  heart ! 
and  how  truly  the  Commcdia  which  is  justly  called  Divine, 
unlocks  the  secret  chambers  of  the  human  soul. 

Philibert  ceased  his  reading  and  gazed  fondly  at  her 
face,  which  she  shyly  averted,  looking  away  over  the  bro<id 
sheet  of  water,  while  repeating  in  thought  some  of  the 
divine  stanzas  which  lingered  like  the  chime  of  silver  bells 
upon  her  memory.  .  ^-    ;  ,'  :    . 

J         •»  'V . 

Amor  ch*  al  cor  gentil  ratto  s'appreudc^ 

Atfior  cfi*  a  fudl amato  amar  ferdona^  '     •  -; 

Questi  che  mat  da  mi  nonjia  diviso.  '       <  sji 


I.o\  1  that  doth  quickly  seize  the  gentle  heart, 
T.ove  that  excuses  no  loved  one  from  loving, 
He  who  from  me  shall  ne'er  be  parted  more." 


■■.X'v  '' 


Love  is  death  as  well  as  life,  separation  as  well  as 
meeting!  Amdlie  was  melted  at  the  passionate  tale  and 
trembled,  she  knew  not  why,  but  she  dared  not  for  worlds 
at  that  moment  have  looked  up  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre 
Philibert.  ,      .    ,.  ,vit 

She  would  fain  have  risen,  but  held  down  as  by  some 
spell  of  fascination,  she  kept  hei  seat. 

"  Read  no  more  Pierre,"  said  she,  "  that  book  is  too 
terrible  in  its  beauty  and  in  its  sadness  I  I  think  it  was 
written  by  a  disembodied  spirit  who  had  seen  all  worlds, 
knew  all  hearts,  and  shared  in  all  sufferiiigs.  It  sounds 
to  me  like  the  sad  voice  of  a  prophet  of  woe." 

"  Amelie,"  replied  he,  "believe  you  th  ^re  are  women 
faithful  and  true  as  Francesca  da  Rimin'  ?  she  would  not 
forsake  Paulo  even  in  the  gloomy  regions  of  despair. 
Believe  you  that  there  are  such  women  ?  " 


.:* 


3ia 


7  HE  ClUEXD'OK. 


.- 1  '^i 


..'4  I 
It 


Km^lie  looked  at  him  with  n  quick  confident  gUnca. 
A  deep  flush  covered  her  check,  and  her  breath  went  and 
came  rapidly,  she  knew  what  to  answer,  but  she  thought 
it  might  seem  over  bold  to  answer  such  a  question.  A 
second  thought  decided  her,  however.  Pierre  Philibert 
would  ask  her  no  question  to  which  she  might  not  answer, 
the  said  to  herself. 

Amdiie  replied  to  him  slowly,  but  undoubtingly  ;  "  I 
think  there  are  such  women,  Pierre,"  replied  she,  "  women 
who  would  never  even  in  the  regions  of  despair,  forsake 
the  man  whom  they  truly  love,  no,  not  for  all  the  terrors 
recorded  in  that  awful  book  of  Dante  !  " 

"  It  is  a  blessed  truth,  Amdlie,"  replied  he,  eagerly,  and 
he  thought  but  did  not  say  it,  "such  a  woman  you  are, 
the  man  who  gets  your  love,  gets  that  which  neither  earth 
nor  heaven  nor  hell  can  take  away." 

He  continued  aloud,  "the  love  of  such  a  woman  is 
truly  given  away,  Amdlie,  no  one  can  merit  it  1  It  is  a 
woman's  grace  not  man's  deserving." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  she,  "  it  is  not  hard  to  give  away 
God's  gifts,  love  should  be  given  freely  as  God  gives  it  to 
us.  It  has  no  value  except  as  the  bounty  of  the  heart,  and 
looks  for  no  reward  but  in  its  own  acceptance." 

"  Amdie  I "  exclaimed  he;  passionately,  turning  full 
towards  her ;  but  her  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
"  The  gift  of  such  a  woman's  love  has  been  the  dream, 
the  ambition  of  my  life  !  I  may  never  find  it,  or  having 
found  it  may  never  be  worthy  of  it,  and  yet  I  I  must  find 
it  or  die !  I  must  find  it  where  alone  I  seek  it !  there  or 
nowhere!  can  you  help  me  for  friendship's  sake — for 
love's  sake,  Amtflie  de  Repentigny,  to  find  that  one 
treasure  that  is  precious  as  life,  which  is  life  itself  to  the 
heart  of  Pierre  Philibert  ? " 

He  took  hold  of  her  passive  hands.  They  trembled  in 
his,  but  she  offered  not  to  withdraw  them.  Indeed,  she 
hardly  noticed  the  act  in  the  tide  of  emotion  which  was 
surging  in  her  bosom.  Her  heart  moved  with  a  wild  yearn- 
ing to  tell  him  that  he  had  found  the  treasure  he  sought, 
— that  a  love  as  strong  and  as  devoted  as  that  of  Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini  was  her  own  free  gift  to  him. 

She  tried  to  answer  him,  but  could  not.  Hei  hand 
still  remained  fast  locked  in  his.  He  held  to  it  as  a  drown- 
ing man  holds  to  the  hand  that  is  stretched  to  save  him. 


f^js/jcr.s  .'ER  m  A\rp!.ius. 


3t3 


Pliilibert  knew  .it  that  moment  th;it  tlu?  Imur  of  hia 
fat  2  was  conic.  He  wouUI  never  let  gi)  that  h.inc!  again 
till  he  called  it  his  own,  or  received  from  it  a  sign  to  be 
gone  for  ever  from  the  presence  of  Anielie  de  Repentigny. 

The  soft  twilight  grew  deeper  and  dveper  ever)  mo 
ment,  changing  the  ro^y  hufs  of  the  west  i.ito  a  pale  ashen 
gtov,  over  which  hung  liie  lamp  of  love — the  evening  star, 
whi(  h  shines  so  brightly  and  sets  so  soon  — and  ever  the 
sooner  as  it  hastens  to  become  again  the  morning  star  0(9 
brighter  day. 

The  shadow  of  the  broad,  spreading  tree  fell  darkci 
round  the  rustic  seat  where  sat  the^e  two — as  myriads  have 
Silt  before  and  since,  working  out  the  problems  of  their  lives, 
and  beginning  to  comprehend  each  other,  as  they  await 
with  a  thrill  of  anticipation  the  moment  of  mutual  confi- 
ilcnce  and  fond  confession. 

IMerre  Philibert  sat  some  minutes  without  speaking. 
He  could  have  sat  so  for  ever,  gazing  with  rapture  upon 
licr  half  averted  countenance,  which  beamed  with  such  a 
divine  beauty,  all  aglow  with  the  happy  consciousness  of 
his  ardent  admiration,  that  it  seemed  the  face  of  a  seraph, 
and  in  his  heart,  if  not  on  his  knees,  he  bent  in  worship, 
almost  idolatrous,  at  her  feet. 

And  yet  he  trembled,  this  strong  man  who  had  faced 
death  in  every  form  but  this  I  He  trembled  by  the  side  of 
this  gentle  girl — but  it  was  for  joy,  not  for  fear.  Per- 
fect love  casts  out  fear,  and  he  had  no  fear  now  for  Amdlie's 
love,  although  she  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  at  him.  But 
her  little  hand  lay  unreprovingly  in  his — nestling  like  a 
timid  bird,  which  loved  to  be  there,  and  sought  not  to  es- 
cape. He  pressed  it  gently  to  his  heart ;  he  felt  by  its 
magnetic  touch,  by  that  dumb  alphabet  of  love,  more  elo- 
quent than  spoken  words,  that  he  had  won  the  heart  of 
Ame'lie  de  Repentigny. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she, — she  wanted  to  say  it  was  time  to 
rejoin  their  companions— but  the  words  would  not  come. 
Her  face  was  still  half  averted,  and  suffused  with  an  un- 
seen blush,  as  she  felt  his  strong  arm  round  her  ;  and  Iiis 
breath,  how  sweet  it  seem  3d,  fanning  her  cheek.  She  had 
no  power,  no  will  to  resist  him,  as  he  drew  her  close,  still 
closer  to  his  heart. 

She  trembled,  but  was  happy.  No  eye  saw  but  God's 
ihrough  the  blessed  twilight ;  and  "  God  will  not  reprove 


f 


\"\ 


f«4 


THE  ClflEN  D'OR. 


t  ^ 


5    ,     V   1 


W     i 


V:'  ' 


Pierre  Philibcrt  for  loving  me,"  thouglu  she,  "  and  why 
should  I?"  She  tried,  or  simulated,  an  attempt  at  soft  re- 
proof, as  a  woman  will  who  fears  she  m.iy  be  thought  too 
fond  and  too  easily  won,  at  the  very  moment  she  is  ready 
lo  fall  down  and  kiss  the  f  jet  of  the  man  before  her. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "it  is  time  we  rejoin  our  compan- 
ons ;  they  will  remark  oui  absence.     We  will  go." 

But  she  stid  sat  there,  and  made  no  effort  to  go.  A  gos- 
samer thread  could  have  held  her  there  for  ever,  and  how 
iOuid  she  put  aside  the  strong  arm  that'was  mightier  than 
I*er  own  will  ? 

Pierre  spoke  now  ;  the  feelings  so  long  pent  up,  burst 
;         forth  in  a  torrent  that  swept  away  every  bond  of  restraint, 
but  that  of  love's  own  laws. 

He  placed  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  cheek,  and  turned 
her  glowing  face  fuir  towards  him.  Still  she  dared  not 
look  up.  She  knew  well  what  he  was  going  to  say.  She 
might  control  her  words,  but  not  her  tell-tale  eyes.  She 
felt  a  wild  joy  flashing  and  leaping  in  her  bosom,  which  no 
art  could  conceal,  should  she  look  up  at  this  moment  in 
^'  the  face  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  Ami^lie,"  said  he,  after   a  pause,  "turn  those  dear 
eyes,  and  see  and  believe  in  the  truth  of  mine  I    No  words 
can  express  how  much  I  do  love  you  !  " 
{>  She  gave  a  start  of  joy, — not  of  surprise,  for  she  knew 

.  :  he  loved  her.  But  the  avowal  of  Pierre  Philibert's  love 
'  lifted  at  once  the  veil  from  her  own  feelings.  She  raised  her 
dark,  impassioned  eyes  to  his  ;  and  their  souls  met  and  em- 
braced in  one  look  both  of  recognition  and  bliss.  She  spake 
not,  but  unconsciously  nestled  closer  to  his  breast,  falter- 
ing out  some  inarticulate  words  of  tenderness. 

'*  Amdlie,"  continued  he,  straining  her  still  harder  to  his 
heart,  "  your  love  is  all  I  ask  of  heaven  and  of  you.  Give  me 
that.  I  must  have  it,  or  live  henceforth  a  man  forlorn  in  the 
mde  world.  O  say,  darling,  can  you,  do  you  care  for  me  ? " 

*'  Yes,  indeed  I  do  !  replied  she,  laying  her  arm  over 
.  ;  his  neck,  as  if  drawing  him  towards  her  with  a  timid  move- 
ment, while  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  sweet  mouth  and 
eyes  in  an  ecstasy  of  passionate  joy.  She  abandoned  her- 
self for  a  moment  to  her  excess  of  bliss.  "  Kiss  me,  dar 
ling !  "  said  he ;  and  she  kissed  him  more  than  once,  to 
express  her  own  great  iove,  and  assure  him  that  it  was 
all  his  own. 


FELICES  TER  ET  AMPLIUS, 


3'S 


They  sat  in  silence  for  some  minutes  ;  her  cheek  lay 
upon  his,  as  she  breathed  his  name  with  many  fond,  fal- 
tering expressions  of  lender ness. 

He  felt  her  tears  upon  his  face.  '*  Vou  weep,  Am^lie," 
said  he,  starting  up  md  looking  at  her  cheeks  and  eyes 
suffused  with  moisture. 

"  I  do,  "  said  she,  "  but  it  is  for  joy  !  O  Pierre  Phili- 
bert,  I  am  so  happy  !  Let  me  weep  now  ;  I  will  laugh 
soon.  Forgive  me  if  I  have  confessed  too  readily  how  much 
I  love  you  !" 

"  Forgive  you  !  'tis  I  need  forgiveness  ;  impetuous  that 
I  am  to  have  forced  this  confession  from  you  to-night. 
Those  blessed  words,  *  Yes,  indeed  I  do,' — God's  finger 
has  written  them  on  my  heart  for  ever.  Never  will  I  for- 
sake the  dear  lips  which  spake  them,  nor  fail  in  all  loving 
duty  and  affection  to  you,  my  Amelie,  to  the  end  of  my 
life." 

"Of  both  our  lives,  Pierre,"  replied  she  ;  "  I  can  imag- 
ine no  life,  only  death,  separated  from  you.  In  thought 
you  have  always  been  with  me  from  the  beginning;  my  fife 
and  yours  are  henceforth  one." 

He  gave  a  start  of  joy.  "  And  you  loved  me  before, 
Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Ever  and  always,  but  irrevocably  since  that  day  of 
terror  and  joy  when  you  saved  the  life  of  Le  Gardeur,  and 
I  vowed  to  pray  for  you  to  the  end  of  my  life." 

"  And  during  these  long  years  in  the  convent,  Amdlie, 
— when  we  seemed  utterly  forgotten  to  each  other  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  forgotten  by  me,  Pierre  !  I  prayed  for 
you,  then, — earnest  prayers  for  your  safety  and  happiness, 
never  hoping  for  more ;  least  of  all  anticipating  such  a 
moment  of  bliss  as  the  present.  O  my  Pierre,  do  not  think 
me  bold.  You  give  me  the  right  to  love  you,  without 
shame  by  the  avowal  of  your  love  to  me." 

"  Ame'lie  !  "  exclaimed  he,  kissing  her  in  an  ecstacy  of 
joy  and  admiration,  "  what  have  I  done — what  can  I 
ever  do,  to  merit  or  recompense  such  condescension  as 
your  dear  words  express  ? " 

"  Love  me,  Pierre  !  Always  love  me  1  That  is  my 
reward !  That  is  all  I  ask,  all  my  utmost  imagination 
could  desire." 

"  And  this  little  hand,  Ame'lie,  will  be  for  ever  mine  ?  " 

"For  ever,  Pierre,  and  the  heart  along  with  it." 


316 


r//E  CHIEN   DOR, 


11(5  raised  her  hand  reverently  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it 
**  Let  it  not  be  long,"  said  he.  "  Life  is  too  short  to  cur- 
tail one  hour  of  happiness  from  the  years  full  of  trouble, 
which  are  most  men's  lot." 

"  But  not  our  lot,  Pierre.  Not  ours.  With  you,  I  for- 
bode  no  more  trouble  in  this  life,  and  eternal  joy  in  the 
next ! " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  dilate  With 
joy.  Her  hand  crept  timidly  up  to  his  thick  locks  ;  she 
fondly  brushed  them  aside  from  his  broad  foreheavl,  which 
she  pressed  down  to  her  lips  and  kissed. 

"Tell  my  aunt  and  Le  Gardeur  when  we  return  home," 
continued  she.  "  They  love  you,  and  will  be  glad — nay, 
overjoyed,  to  know  that  I  am  to  be  your — your — 

"  My  wife  ! — Am^ilie,  thrice  blessed  words  ! — O,  say  my 
wife!" 

"  Yes,  your  wife,  Pierre  !  Your  true  and  loving  wife 
for  ever." 

"Forever!  Yes.  Love  like  ours  is  imperishable  as 
the  essence  of  the  soul  itself,  and  partakes  of  the  immor- 
tality of  God,  being  of  him  and  from  him.  The  Lady  de 
Tilly  shall  find  me  a  worthy  son,  and  Le  Gardeur  a  true 
and  faithful  brother." 

"  And  you,  Pierre  !  O,  say  it ;  that  blessed  word  has 
not  sounded  yet  in  my  ear — what  shall  I  call  you  ?  "  And 
she  looked  in  his  eyes,  drawing  his  soul  from  its  inmost 
depths  by  the  mpgnetism  of  her  look. 

"  Your  husband  ;  your  true  and  loving  husband,  as  you 
are  my  wife,  Amelie." 

"  God  be  praised  !  "  murmured  she  in  his  ear.  "  Yes, 
my  husband !  The  blessed  Virgin  has  heard  my  prayers." 
And  she  pressed  him  in  a  fond  embrace,  while  tears  of  joy 
flowed  from  her  eyes.     "  I  am  indeed  happy  !." 

The  words  hardly  left  her  iips  when  a  sudden  crash  of 
thunder  rolled  over  their  heads  and  went  pealing  down  the 
lake  and  among  the  islands,  while  a  black  cloud  suddenly 
eclipsed  the  moon,  shedding  darkness  over  the  landscapOj 
which  had  just  begun  to  brighten  in  her  silvery  rays. 

Amdlie  was  startled,  frightened,  clinging  hard  to  the 
breast  of  Pierre,  as  her  natural  protector.  She  trembled 
and  shook  as  the  angry  reverberations  rolled  away  in  the 
distant  forests.  "  Oh,  Pierre  !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  what  is 
that  ?    It  is  as  if  a  dreadful  voice  came  between  us,  for 


FELICES  TER  ET  AMPUUS, 


3«7 


»» 


:joy 


bidding  our  union  !     But  nothing  shall  ever  do  that  noWj 
shall  it  ?    Oh,  my  love  !  " 

"  Nothing,  Amelie.  B<!  comforted,"  replied  he.  "  It 
is  but  a  thunder-storm  coming  up.  It  will  send  Le  Gard* 
eur  and  all  our  gay  companions  quickly  back  to  us,  and 
we  shall  return  home  an  hour  sooner,  that  is  all.  Heaven 
cannot  frown  on  our  union,  darling." 

"  I  should  love  you  all  the  same,  Pierre,"  whispered 
she.  Amelie  was  not  hard  to  persuade  ;  she  was  neither 
weak  nor  superstitious  beyond  her  age  and  sex.  But  she 
had  not  much  time  to  indulge  in  alarms. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  sound  of  voices  was  heard  ;  the 
dip  and  splash  of  hasty  paddles  followed,  and  the  fleet  of 
canoes  came  rushing  into  shore  like  a  flock  of  water-fowl 
seeking  shelter  in  bay  or  inlet  from  a  storm. 

There  was  a  hasty  preparation  on  all  sides  for  depar- 
ture. The  camp  fires  were  trampled  out,  lest  they  should 
kindle  a  conflagration  in  the  forest.  The  baskets  were 
tossed  into  one  of  the  large  canoes.  Philibert  and  Amdlie 
embarked  in  that  of  Le  Gardeur,  not  without  many  arch 
smiles  and  pretended  regrets,  on  the  part  of  some  of  the 
young  ladies,  for  having  left  them  on  their  last  round  of 
the  lake. 

The  clouds  kept  gathering  in  the  south,  and  there  was 
no  time  for  parley.  The  canoes  were  headed  down  the 
stream,  the  paddles  were  plied  vigorously :  it  was  a  race 
to  keep  a-head  of  the  coming  storm,  and  they  did  not  quite 
win  it. 

The  black  clouds  came  rolling  over  the  horizon  in  still 
blacker^,|nasses,  lower  and  lower,  lashing  the  very  earth 
with  theft  angry  skirts,  which  were  rent  and  split  with  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning.  The  rising  wind  almost  overpowered 
with  its  rocjring  the  thunder  that  pealed  momentarily 
nearer  and  n  3arer.  The  rain  came  down  in  broad,  heavy 
splashes,  followed  by  a  fierce,  pitiless  hail,  as  if  Heaven's 
anger  was  pursuing  them. 

Amdlie  clung  to  Philibert.  She  thought  of  Francisca 
da  Rimini  clinging  to  Paolo  amidst  the  tempest  of 
wind  and  the  moving  darkness,  and  uttered  tremblingly 
the  words,  "  Oh,  Pierre  !  what  an  omen.  Shall  it  be  said 
of  us  as  of  them,  ''^  Amor  condusse  not  ad  una  morUV\^ 
("Love  has  conducted  us  i:ito  one  death.") 

"  God  grant  we  may  one  day  say  so,"  replied  he,  pressing 


I- 


318 


r//£  CHIEN  lyOR. 


her  to  his  bosom,  "  when  we  ha^  e  earned  it  by  a  long  life 
of  mutual  love  and  devotion.  But,  now,  cheer  up,  ilar 
ling  ;  we  are  home." 

The  canoes  pushed  madly  to  the  bank.  The  startled 
holiday  party  sprang  out;  servants  were  there  to  help 
them.  All  ran  across  the  lawn  under  the  wildly  tossing 
trees,  and  in  a  few  moments,  before  the  storm  could  over- 
take them  with  its  greatest  fury,  they  reached  the  Manor 
House,  and  were  safe  under  the  protection  of  its  strong 
and  hospitable  roof. 


^7* 


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ill 

lii^^i^H 

:i^  ■ 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

**N0   SPEECH   OF  SILK  WILL  SERVE   YOUR  TURN."     \ 

Angelique  Des  Meloises  was  duly  informed,  throt^h 
the  sharp  espionage  of  Lizette,  as  to  what  had  become 
of  Le  Gardeur  after  that  memorable  night  of  conflict 
between  love  and  ambition,  when  she  rejected  the  offer 
of  his  hand,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  illusions  of  her 
imagination. 

Still  she  loved  Le  Gardeur,  with  such  love  as  she  was 
capable  of,  but  always  subordinate  to  her  selfish  vanity ; 
and  it  was  not  without  many  sharp  pangs  of  contrition  that 
she  remembered  the  cruel  rejection  of  one  whom  she  ad- 
mired and  was  proud  of  as  the  handsomest  ami  most 
devoted  of  all  men  who  had  sought  her  favor. 

She  was  sorry,  yet  flattered,  at  Lizette's  account  of  his 
conduct  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut ;  for  although  pleased  to 
think  that  Le  Gardeur  loved  her  to  the  point  of  self- 
destruction,  she  honestly  pitied  him,  and  felt,  or  thought 
she  felt,  that  she  could  sacrifice  anything,  except  herself, 
for  his  sake. 

Angelique  pondered,  in  her  own  strange  fitful  way,  over 
Le  Gardeur.  She  had  no  thought  of  losing  hin'  wholly. 
She  would  continue  to  hold  him  in  her  silken  string  and 
keep  him  under  the  spell  of  her  fascinations.  She  still 
admired  him, — nay,  loved  him,  she  thought.  She  could 
HQt  help  doing  so  ;  and  if  she  could  not  help  it  where  was 


-A^O  SPEECH  OF  silk;'  ETC- 


3*9 


the  blame?  She  would  not,  to  be  sure,  sacrifice  for  him 
the  brilliant  hopes  which  danced  before  her  imagination 
like  fire-flies  in  a  summer  night.  For  no  man  in  the  world 
woula  she  do  that.  The  Royal  Intendant  was  the  mark 
she  aimed  at  She  was  ready  to  go  through  fire  and  water 
to  reach  that  goal  of  her  ambition.  But  if  she  gave  the 
Intendant  her  hand  it  was  enough  j  it  was  all  she  could 
give  him,  but  not  the  smallest  corner  of  her  heart,  which 
she  acknowledged  to  herself  belonged  only  to  Le  Gard- 
eur  de  Repentigny. 

While  bent  on  accomplishing  this  scheme  by  ever)' 
means  in  her  power  and  which  involved  necessarily  the 
ruin  of  Le  Gardeur,  she  took  a  sort  of  perverse  pride  in 
enumerating  the  hundred  points  of  personal  and  moral 
superiority  possessed  by  him  over  the  Intendant,  and  all 
others  of  her  admirers.  If  she  sacrificed  her  love  to  her 
ambition,  hating  herself  while  she  did  so,  it  was  a  sort  of 
satisfaction  to  think  that  Le  Gardeur's  sacrifice  was  not 
less  complete  than  her  own ;  and  she  rather  felt  pleased 
with  the  reflection  that  his  heart  would  be  broken  and 
no  other  woman  would  ever  fill  that  place  in  his  affections 
which  she  had  once  occupied. 

The  days  that  elapsed  after  their  final  interview  were 
days  of  vexation  to  Angelique.  She  was  angry  with  herself, 
almost,  angry  with  Le  Gardeur  that  he  had  taken  her  at 
her  word,  and  still  more  angry  that  she  did  not  reap  the 
immediate  reward  of  her  treachery  against  her  own  heart. 
She  was  like  a  spoiled  and  wilful  child  which  will  neither 
have  a  thing  nor  let  it  go.  She  would  discard  her  lover 
and  still  retain  his  love  !  and  felt  irritated  and  even  jealous 
when  she  heard  of  his  departure  to  Tilly  with  his  sister, 
who  had  thus  apparently  more  influence  to  take  him  away 
from  the  city,  than  Angelique  had  to  keep  him  there.        .  • 

But  her  mind  was  especially  worked  upon  almost  to 
madness  by  the  ardent  professions  of  love,  with  the  careful 
avoidance  of  any  proposal  of  marriage  on  the  part  Df  the 
Intendant.  She  had  received  his  daily  visits  with  a  deter- 
mination to  please  and  fascinate  him.  She  had  dressed 
herself  with  elaborate  care  and  no  woman  in  New  France 
equalled  Angelique  in  the  perfection  of  her  attire.  She 
studied  his  tastes  in  her  conversation  and  demeanor,  which 
were  free  beyond  even  her  wont,  because  she  saw  that  a 
manner  bold  and  unconstrained  took  best  with  him.     An- 


% 


320 


Tim  till  EX  D'OA\ 


II'  '   1 


ii'-. 


g^liquc's  free  style  was  the  most  perfect  piece  )f  acting  ii 
the  world.  She  laughed  loudly  at  his  wit,  and  heard  with- 
out blushes  h's  doubh  eniendrcs  and  coarse  jests,  not  less 
coarse  because  spoken  in  the  polished  dialect  of  Paris. 
She  stood  it  all,  but  with  no  more  result  than  is  left  by  a 
brilliant  display  of  fireworks  after  it  is  over.  She  could 
read  in  the  ea^jer  looks  and  manner  of  the  Intendant  that 
she  had  fixed  his  admiration  and  stirred  his  passions,  but 
she  knew  by  a  no  less  sure  intuition  that  she  had  not,  with 
all  her  blandishments,  suggested  to  his  mind  one  serious 
thought  of  marriage. 

In  vain  she  reverted  to  the  subject  of  matrimony,  in 
apparent  jest  but  secret  earnest.  The  Intendant,  quick 
witted  as  herself  would  accept  the  challenge,  talk  with  her 
and  caracole  on  the  topic  which  she  had  caparisoned  so 
gayly  for  him,  and  amid  compliments  and  pleasantries,  ride 
away  from  the  point,  she  knew  not  whither!  Then  Ange- 
lique  would  be  angry  after  his  departure,  and  swear,  she 
could  swear  shockingly  for  a  lady  when  she  was  angry  !  and 
vow  she  would  marry  Le  Gardeur  after  all !  but  her  pride 
was  stung,  not  her  love.  No  man  had  ever  defeated  her 
when  she  chose  to  subdue  him,  neither  should  this  proud 
Intendant !  So  Angdlique  collected  her  scattered  forces 
again,  and  laid  closer  siege  to  Bigot  than  ever. 

The  great  ball  at  the  Palais  had  been  the  object  of 
absorbing  interest  to  the  fashionable  society  of  the  Capital 
for  many  weeks.  It  came  on  at  last,  turning  the  heads  of 
half  the  city  with  its  splendor  which  was  remembered  a 
score  of  years  after  when  faded  dames  and  powdered 
dowagers  recounted  with  nodding  heads  to  their  daugh- 
ters, nieces  and  grand-daughters  the  great  events  of  their 
youthful  prime  under  the  old  regime,  when  th^y  had  the 
honor  of  dancing  courtly  minuets  and  lively  cotillions  with 
the  gay  Intendant  Bigot.  The  old  ladies  never  wearied  of 
repeating  with  the  natural  exaggerations  of  vanity  and  the 
garrulity  of  old  age,  all  the  compliments  he  had  paid 
their  grace  and  beauty.  More  than  one  ancient  dowager 
used  to  tell  how  at  her  first  presentation  at  the  Palace  of 
the  Intendant,  Bigot  had  embraced  her,  as  the  fashion  at 
Court  then  was,  and  clasping  her  slender  waist  with  four 
fingers  exclaimed  in  ecstacy :  "  What  a  pretty  handful  oi 
brunette  I  "  or  "  What  a  charming  span  round  of  blonde ! '' 

The  daughteis  and  grand  daughters  of  the  old  regime, 


**N0  SPEE'jn  OF  silk:'  l.  IV, 


3ii 


^ager 
ice  of 
Ion  at 
four 
Iful  oi 
Ide !  ''■ 

gime, 


laughed,  winked  and  did  not  wonder  tluit  llie  ladies  of  tix 
old  times  were  in  such  ecstacies  at  the  gallantry  of  the 
Intendant  and  almost  ready  to  kill  one  another  with  envy 
and  rivalry  for  his  good  graces ! 

Nor  did  the  memory  of  the  old  dowagers  fail  to  recall 
the  names  of  the  gentlemen  who  were  present  at  this 
famous  Ball  of  the  Palais.  Rich  associates  of  the  Grand 
Ompany,  each  one  worth  his  millions,  and  how  the  girls 
struggled  for  them  and  pulled  caps,  so  that  even  the  hunch- 
back, Sieur  Maurin,  whose  hunch  was  saii  to  be  n»adc  of 
gold,  was  carried  off  by  the  prettiest  girl  in  St.  Koch  to  the 
despair  of  a  score  of  rivals!  and  the  Sieur  de  Penissault 
who  married  so  charming  and  complaisant  a  wife  that  she 
consented  to  be  sold  to  the  Chevalier  de  Lt?vis  to  save  the 
incomparable  fortune  of  her  husband  from  confiscation  I 
The  King's  officers  of  both  army  and  navy  were  not  for- 
gotten at  the  great  ball,  and  their  laced  coats,  silk  stock- 
ings, buckles  and  gold  epaulettes  furnished  fertile  subjects 
for  hours  of  exposition  to  the  narrators  of  the  splendor  of 
former  times  when  gay  Versailles  and  not  dull  St.  James 
set  the  fashions  for  New  France. 

"  The  Bourgeoisie  were  not  permitted  in  those  high 
caste  days  as  now,"  said  Madame  de  Grandmaison,  "  to 
tread  upon  the  skirts  of  the  noblesse!  but  had  to  content 
themselves  with  seats  in  the  great  gallery  which  ran  round 
the  ball  room  of  the  Palais,  where  they  could  look  down 
with  admiration  and  envy,  upon  the  gay  scene,  and  feast 
their  longing  eyes  upon  the  enchanting  enjoyments  of  their 
betters  ! " 

Ang(^lique  shone  the  acknowledged  Queen  of  the  Inten- 
dant's  ball.  *  Her  natural  grace  and  beauty  set  off  by  the 
exquisite  taste  and  richness  of  her  attire  threw  into  eclipse 
the  fairest  of  her  rivals.  If  there  was  one  present  who  in 
admiration  of  her  own  charms,  claimed  for  herself  the  first 
place,  she  freely  conceded  to  Angelique  the  second.  But 
Angelique  feared  no  rival  there.  Her  only  fear  was  at 
Beaumanoir.  She  was  profoundly  conscious  of  her  own 
superiority  to  all  present,  while  she  relished  the  envy  and 
jealousy  which  it  created.  She  cared  but  little  what  the 
women  thought  of  her  and  boldly  challenging  the  homage 
of  the  men  obtained  it  as  her  rightful  due.  ,,  . 

Still,  under  the  gay  smiles  and  lively  badinage  which 
iihe  showered   on  all  around  as  she  moved   through  the 

21 


li. 


I 


I'li  ■»: 


'    \f 


I    '•«   ik. 


llii 


323 


TiY^  cm  EN  DOR. 


briliiant  throng,  Angdlique  felt  a  bitter  spint  of  discoiv 
tent  rankling  in  her  bosom.  She  was  angry  and  she  knew 
why,  and  still  more  angry  because  upon  herself  lay  the 
blame  I  Not  that  she  blamed  herself  for  having  rejected 
Le  Gardeui  ;  she  had  done  that  deliberately  and  for  a  price  ; 
but  the  pri(  e  was  not  yet  paid  1  and  she  had  sometimes 
qualms  of  doubt  whether  it  would  ever  be  paid  I 

She  who  had  had  her  own  way  with  all  men,  now  en- 
countered a  man  who  spoke  and  looked  like  one  who  had 
had  his  own  way  with  all  women,  and  who  meant  to  have 
his  own  way  with  her  1 

She  gazed  often  upon  the  face  of  Bigot  and  the  more 
she  looked,  the  more  inscrutable  it  appeared  to  her.  She 
tried  to  sound  the  depths  of  his  thoughts,  but  her  enquiry 
was  like  the  dropping  of  a  stone  into  the  bottomless  pit  of 
that  deep  cavern  of  the  dark  and  bloody  ground  talked  of 
by  adventurous  voyageurs,  from  the  far  West.  It  went 
down  and  down,  reverberating  fainter  and  fainter  as  it 
descended,  and  never  struck  the  bottom.  Equally  futile 
was  Angdlique's  questioning  of  the  mind  of  Bigot.  Under  a 
glare  of  compliments  and  flattery,  lay  a  dark  unfathomable 
abyss  of  hidden  purposes  which  defied  her  utmost  scrutiny. 
She  did  well,  she  thought,  to  be  angry  and  to  nourish  des- 
perate schemes  in  her  heart. 

That  Bigot  admired  her  beyond  all  other  women,  at  the 
ball,  was  visible  enough  from  the  marked  attention  which 
he  lavished  upon  her  and  the  courtly  flatteries  that  flowed 
like  honey  from  his  lips.  She  also  read  her  preeminence 
in  his  favor  from  the  jealous  eyes  of  a  host  of  rivals 
who  watched  her  every  movement.  But  Angdlique  felt 
that  the  admiration  of  the  Intendant  was  not  of  that  kind 
which  had  driven  so  many  men  mad  for  her  sake.  She 
knew  Bigot  would  never  go  mad  for  her,  much  as  he  was 
fascinated !  and  why  ?  why  ? 

Angdlique,  while  listening  to  his  honied  flatteries  as  he 
led  her  gayly  through  the  ball  room,  asked  herself  again 
and  again  :  "  why  did  he  carefully  avoid  the  one  topic  that 
filled  her  thoughts  or  spoke  of  it  only  in  his  mocking  man- 
ner which  tortured  her  to  madness  with  doubt  and  per- 
plexity ?" 

As  she  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  courtly  Intendantj 
laughing  like  one  possessed  v/ith  the  very  spirit  of  gayety, 
at  his  sallies  and  jeatJj,  her  mind  was  torn  with  bitter  com- 


**K0  SPFJ-Xir  OF  SIl.K'r  ETC. 


,iUi 


323 


parisons  as  she  rcmtmbererl  Le  (Jardcur,  his  handsome 
face  and  his  transparent  admiration  so  full  of  love  and 
ready  for  any  satritice  for  her  sake,  and  she  had  cast  it  all 
away  for  this  inscrutable  voluptuary  I  a  man  who  had  no 
respect  for  women,  but  who  admired  her  person,  condes- 
cended to  be  plo-^  .'d  with  it,  and  affected  to  be  caught  by 
the  lures  she  held  out  to  him,  but  which  she  felt  would  De 
of  no  more  avail  to  hold  him  fast,  than  the  threads  which 
a  spider  throws  from  bush  to  bush  on  a  summer  morn  will 
hold  fast  a  bird  which  flies  athwart  them.  mk  -i-^'^ 

The  gayest  of  the  gay  to  all  outward  appearance,  An- 
gdlique  missed  sorely  the  presence  of  Le  Gardeur,  and  she 
resented  his  absence  from  the  ball,  as  a  slight  and  a  wrong 
to  her  sovereignty  which  never  released  a  lover  from  his 
allegiance. 

The  fair  demoiselles  at  the  Ball  less  resolutely  ambi- 
tious than  Angelique,  found  by  degrees  in  the  devotion  of 
other  cavaliers,  ample  compensation  for  only  so  much  of 
the  Intendant's  favor  as  he  liberally  bestowed  on  all  the 
sex.  But  that  did  not  content  Angelique,  she  looked  with 
sharpest  eyes  of  inquisition  upon  the  l^right  glances  which 
now  and  then  shot  across  the  room  where  she  sat  by  the 
side  of  Bigot,  apparently  steeped  in  happiness  but  with  a 
serpent  biting  at  her  heart  for  she  felt  that  Bigot  was  really 
unimpressible  as  a  stone,  under  her  most  subtle  manipu- 
lation. 

Her  thoughts  ran  in  a  round  of  ceaseless  repetition  of 
the  question  : — "  Why  can  I  not  subdue  Francois  Bigot  as 
I  have  subdued  every  other  man  who  exposed  his  weak 
side  to  my  power  ?  "  and  Angdlique  pressed  her  foot  hard 
upon  the  floor  as  the  answer  returned  ever  the  same.  "  The 
heart  of  the  Intendant  is  away  at  Beaumanoir  I  That  pale 
pensive  lady,"  (Ange'lique  used  a  more  coarse  and  empha- 
tic word,)  "  stands  between  him  and  me  !  like  a  spectre  as 
she  is,  and  obstructs  the  path  I  have  sacrificed  so  much 
to  enter  !  "  r 

"  I  cannot  endure  the  heat  of  the  ballroom,  b.gct !  " 
said  Angelique  ;  "  I  will  dance  no  more  to  night !  I  would 
rather  sit  and  catch  fireflies  on  the  terrace  than  criase  for- 
ever without  overtaking  it  the  bird  that  has  escaped 
from  my  bosom  1  "  The  Intendant  ever  attentive  to  hex 
wishes,  offered  his  arm  to  lead  her  into  the  pleached  walks 
of  the  illuminated  garden.    Angelique  rose,  gathered  up  hei 


3U 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


% 


m. 


rich  train,  and  with  an  air  of  Royal  coquetry  look  his  arm 
and  accompanied  tiic  Intendant  on  a  promenade  down  the 
grand  alley  of  roses. 

"  What  favorite  bird  has   escaped  from  your   bosopi, 
Ang^Iique?"  asked  the    Intendant,   who   had,  however,  a 
ihrewd  guess  of  the  meaning  of  her  metaphor. 
P  "  The  pleasure  I  had  in  anticipation  of  this  ball  I  the 

bird  has  flown,  I  know  not  where  or  how.  I  have  no  pleasure 
here  at  all  I  "  exclaimed  she,  petulantly,  although  she  knew 
the  ball  had  been  really  got  up  mainly  for  her  own  pleasure. 

"And  yet  Momus  himself  might  have  been  your  father, 
A\A  Euphrosyne  your  mother,  Angelique,"  replied  Bigot,"  to 

{'uuge  by  yourgayety  to  night.  If  you  have  no  pleasure,  it  is 
>eoau:»e  you  have  given  it  all  away  to  others !  But  I  have 
caught  tibie  bird  you  lost,  let  me  restore  it  to  your  bosom 
pray!*'  He' laid  his  hand  lightly  and  caressingly  upon 
her  arm,  her  bosom  was  beating  wildly,  she  removed  his 
|ji|  hand  and  hcla  it  firmly  grasped  in  her  own.  ( 

"  Chevailer  1 ''  said  she,  "  the  pleasure  of  a  king  is  in 
the  loyalty  of  hi*  .subjects,  the  pleasure  of  a  woman  in  the 
fidelity  of  her  lovei  1 "  She  was  going  to  say  more,  but  stop- 
ped. But  she  gave  him  a  glance  which  insinuated  more 
than  all  she  left  unsaid. 

?  Bigot  smiled  to  himseif :  "  Angdlique  is  jealous  I "  thought 
he,  but  he  only  remarked,  "That  ir  an  aphorism  which  I 
believe  with  all  my  heari  1  [f  the  pleasure  of  a  woman  be 
in  the  fidelity  of  her  lover,  1  know  no  one  who  should  be 
more  happy  than  Angelique  des  Meloises  !  No  lady  in 
New  France,  has  a  right  to  claim  greater  devotion  from  a 
lover  and  no  one  receives  it !  " 

"  But  I  have  no  faith  in  the  fidelity  of  my  lover  !  and  I  am 
not  happy,  Chevalier  !  far  from  it  I  "  replied  she,  with  one 
of  those  impulsive  speeches  that  seemed  frankness  itself, 
but  in  this  woman  were  artful  to  a  degree. 

"  Why  so.?"  replied  he,  "  pleasure  will  never  leave  you 
Ang61ique,  unless  you  wilfully  chase  it  away  from  your 
side !  All  women  envy  your  beauty,  all  men  struggle  to 
obtain  your  smiles.  For  myself  I  would  gather  ai'  the 
j  >ys  and  treasures  of  the  world,  and  lay  them  at  your  feet, 
would  you  let  me  I  " 

"  I  do  not  hinder  you,  Chevalier!  "  replied  she  with  a 
laugh  of  incredulity,  "  but  you  do  not  do  it !  It  is  only  your 
politeness  to  say  that    I  have  told  you  that  the  pleasure  of  a 


"  i\o  srEEc:f  OF  silk;'  etc. 


3*5 


be 
be 
in 
Dm  a 


you 
your 
to 
the 
feet, 


woman  is  in  the  fidelity  of  her  lover,  tell  me  now,  Chevaliei 
what  is  the  highest  pleasure  of  a  man  ?  " 

"  The  beauty  and  condescension  of  his  mistress  1  at 
least  I  know  none  greater."  liigot  looked  at  her  as  if  his 
speech  ought  to  receive  acknowledgment  on  the  spot. 

*'  And  it  is  your  politeness  to  say  that  also  I  Chevalier  I  " 
replied  she,  very  coolly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  of  your  condescension,  Angtilique, 
what  I  have  said  of  your  beauty  \  Francois  Bigot  would 
then  feel  the  highest  pleasure  of  a  man."  The  Intendant 
only  half  knew  the  woman  he  was  seeking  to  deceive.  She 
got  angry. 

Angeliquc  looked  up  with  a  scornful  flash  !  "  My  con- 
descension, Chevalier.?  to  what  have  I  not  condescended 
on  the  faith  of  your  solemn  promise  that  the  lady  of 
Beaumanoir  should  not  remain  under  your  roof  ?  She  is 
still  there  !  Chevalier  I  in  spite  of  your  promise  !"         :  '  •' 

Bigot  was  on  the  point  of  denying  the  fact,  but  there 
was  sharpness  in  Angdlique's  tone  and  clearness  of  all 
doubt  in  her  eyes.  He  saw  he  would  gain  nothing  by 
denial. 

"  She  knows  the  whole  secret,  I  do  believe  !  "  muttered 
he.  "  Argus  with  his  hundred  eyes  was  a  blind  man  com- 
pared to  a  woman's  two  eyes  sharpened  by  jealousy." 

"  The  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  accuses  me  of  no  sin,  that 
I  repent  of !  "  replied  he.  "  True  I  I  promised  to  send  her 
away,  and  so  I  will ;  but  she  is  a  woman,  a  lady,  who  has 
claims  upon  me  for  gentle  usage.  If  it  were  your  case, 
Angelique — "  ' 

Angelique  quitted  his  arm  and  stood  confronting  him, 
flaniing  with  indignation.  She  did  not  let  him  finish  his 
sentence.  *'  If  it  were  my  case.  Bigot  I  as  if  that  could  ever 
be  my  case,  and  you  alive  to  speak  of  it !  " 

Bigot  stepped  backwards.  He  was  not  sure  but  a 
poniard  glittered  in  the  clenched  hand  of  Angelique,  It 
was  but  the  flash  of  her  diamond  rings  as  she  lifted  it 
suddenly.     She  almost  struck  him.  -^ 

"  Do  not  blame  me  for  infidelities  committed  before 
I  knew  you,  Angelique  I  "  said  he,  seizing  her  hand  which 
he  held  forcibly  in  his  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  wrench  it 
away.  "  It  is  my  nature  to  worship  beauty  at  every  shrine. 
I  have  done  so  until  I  found  the  concentration  of  all  my 
divinities  in  you.     I  cou]  i  not,  if  I  would,  be  unfaithful  to 


^t  - 


.  *• 


». 


I 


ir- 


ijS 


v^ 


316  77M'  cm  EN  iroR. 

you,  Ang^lique  des  Mtloiscs  !  "  Bij;ot  was  a  firm  believer  ic 
the  classical  faitli  ;  that  Jove  laughs  at  lovers'  perjuries. 

•*  You  mock  me,  liigoti  "  replied  she.  *'  You  are  the  only 
Iran  who  has  ever  dared  to  do  so  twice."  ^ 

4      "  When  did  I  mock  you  twice,  Angelique  ?  "  asked  he 
with  an  air  of  injured  innocence. 

*'  Now  !  and  wiicn  you  pledged  yourself  to  remove  the 
Lady  of  Beaumanoir  from  your  house.  I  admire  your 
courage,  Bigot,  in  playing  false  with  me  and  still  hoping  to 
win  I  13ut  never  speak  to  me  more  of  love  while  that  pale 
spectre  haunts  the  secret  chambers  of  the  chateau  I  " 

"  She  shall  be  removed,  Angelique,  since  you  insist 
upon  it, "  replied  he,  secretly  irritated,  ''  but  where  is  the 
harm  ?  I  pledge  my  faith  she  shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of 
my  love  for  you." 

"  Better  she  were  dead  than  do  so  1 "  whispered 
Angc^lique  to  herself.  "  It  is  my  due.  Bigot  I  "  replied  she 
aloud,  "  you  know  what  I   have  given  up  for  your  sake  1  " 

"Yes I  I  know  you  have  banished  Le  Gardeur  de 
Repentigny  when  it  had  been  better  to  keep  him  securely 
in  the  ranks  of  the  Grand  Company.  Why  did  you  refuse 
to  marry  him,  Angelique  ? " 

The  question  fairly  choked  her  with  anger.  "  Why  did 
I  refuse  to  marry  him  ?  Fran9ois  Bigot !  Do  you  ask  me 
seriously  that  question  1  Did  you  not  tell  me  of  your  own 
love  and  all  but  offer  me  your  hand  ?  giving  me  to  under- 
stand, miserable  sinner  that  you  are,  or  as  you  think  me  to 
be  I  that  you  pledged  your  own  faith  to  me,  as  first  in 
your  choice,  and  I  have  done  that  which  I  had  better  have 
been  dead  and  br^ied  with  the  heaviest  pyramid  ot  Egypt 
on  top  of  me,  buried  without  hope  of  resurrection,  than 
have  done  I  '*  • 

Bigot  accustomed  as  he  was  to  woman's  upbraidings, 
scarcely  knew  what  to  reply  to  this  passionate  outburst. 
He  had  spoken  to  her  words  of  love,  plenty  of  them,  but 
the  idea  of  marriage  had  not  flashed  across  his  mind  for  a 
moment ;  not  a  word  of  that  had  escaped  his  lips.  He  had 
as  little  guessed  the  height  of  Ang^lique's  ambition  as  she 
the  depths  of  bis  craft  and  wickedness,  and  yet  there 
was  a  wonderful  similarity  between  the  characters  ol 
both,  the  same  bold  defiant  spirit,  the  same  inordinate 
ambition,  the  same  void  of  principle  in  selecting  means 
to  ends  ;  only  the  one  fascinated  with  the  lures  of  love,  the 


-A'O  SPE/iCH  OJ-  S/IA',"  ETC. 


3»7 


other  by  the  clKirins  of  wit,  the  Icinpl.ilioiis  of  money,  oj 
ellecleci  his  purposes  by  the  ton;;!!  application  of  force. 

'*  You  call  me  rightly  a  miserable  sinner,"  said  he,  half 
smiling,  as  one  not  very  ini,crable  allhou^'h  a  sinner.  "  If 
love  ot  fair  women  be  a  sin,  I  am  (jne  cjf  liie  greatest  of 
sinners  !  and  in  your  fair  presence,  Angeiicpie,  I  am  sinning 
at  thi^  moment,  enough  to  sink  a  shipload  of  saints  ana 
angels." 

"You  have  sunk  me  in  my  own  and  the  world's  estima- 
tion if  you  mean  what  you  say,  Higot  !  "  replied  she  unconsci- 
ously tearing  in  strips  the  fan  she  hold  in  iier  hand.  "  You 
love  all  women  too  well  ever  to  be  capable  Oi  tixing  your 
heart  upon  one  !  "  A  tear,  of  vexation  perhaps,  stood  in  her 
angry  eye  as  she  said  this,  and  her  cheek  twitched  with 
fierce  emotion. 

"  Come,  Ang6lique  !  "  said  he  soothingly,  "  some  of  our 
guests  have  entered  this  alley.  Let  us  walk  down  to  the 
terrace.  The  moon  is  shining  bright  over  the  broad  river, 
and  I  will  swear  to  you  by  St.  Picaut,  my  patron,  whom  I 
never  deceive,  that  my  love  for  all  woman  kind  has  not 
hindered  me  from  fixing  my  supreme  affection  upon  you." 

Angelique  allowed  him  to  press  her  hand,  which  he  did 
with  fervor.  She  almost  believed  his  words.  She  could 
scarcely  imagine  anothei  woman  seriously  preferred  to  her- 
self, when  she  chose  to  flatter  a  man  with  a  belief  of  her 
own  prefer' 'cc  ior  him. 

They  walked  down  a  long  alley  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  lamps  of  Bohemian  glass  which  shone  like  the  dia- 
monds, rubies  and  emeralds  which  grew  upon  the  trees  in 
the  garden  of  Aladdin. 

At  every  angle  of  the  geometrically  cut  paths  of  hard 
beaten  sea  shells,  white  as  snow,  stood  the  statue  of  a  faun, 
a  nymph  or  dryad  in  Parian  marble,  holding  a  torch,  which 
illuminated  a  great  vase  runnin  )ver  with  fresh  blooming 
flowers  presenting  a  vista  of  royal  magnificence  which  bore 
testimony  to  the  wealth  and  spl  nidid  tastes  of  the  Intend- 
ant. 

The  garden  walks  were  not  deserted,  their  beauty  drew 
out  many  a  couple  who  sauntered  merrily,  or  lovingly  down 
the  pleached  avenues,  which  looked  like  the  corridors  of  a 
gorgeously  decorated  palace. 

Bigot  and  Ange'lique  moved  among  the  guests,  receiving 
as  they  passed  obsequious  salutations,  which  to  Angelique 
seemed  a  foretaste  of  royalty.     She  had  seen  the  gardens 


328 


THE  CI/J  K  AT  DOR. 


I' 


left  -  - 


of  the  Palais  many  times  before,  but  never  illuminated  ai 
now.  The  sight  of  them  so  grandly  decorated  filled  her 
with  admiration  of  their  owner,  and  she  resolved  that  cost 
what  it  would,  the  homage  paid  to  her  to-night,  as  the  part- 
ner of  the  Intendant,  should  become  hers  by  right  on  his 
hearthstone  as  the  first  lady  in  New  France. 

Ang^lique  threw  back  her  veil  that  all  might  see  her, 
that  the  women  might  envy  and  the  men  admire  her,  as  she 
leaned  confidingly  on  the  arm  of  Bigot,  looking  up  in  his 
face  with  that  wonderful  smile  of  hers  which  had  brought 
so  many  men  to  ruin  at  her  feet  and  talking  with  such 
enchantment  as  no  woman  could  talk  but  Angdlique  des 
Meloises. 

Well  understanding  that  her  only  road  to  success  was 
to  completely  fascinate  the  Intendant,  she  bent  herself  to 
the  task  with  such  power  of  witchery  and  such  simulation 
of  real  passion,  that  Bigot,  wary  and  experienced  gladiator 
as  he  was  in  the  arena  of  love,  was  more  than  once  brought 
to  the  brink  of  a  proposal  for  her  hand. 

She  watched  every  nnovement  of  his  features,  at  these 
critical  moments  when  he  seemed  just  falling  into  the 
snares  so  artfully  set  for  him.  W^hen  she  caught  his  eyes 
glowing  with  passionate  admiration,  she  shyly  affected  to 
withdraw  them  from  his  gaze,  turning  on  him  at  times 
flashes  of  her  dark  eyes  which  electrified  every  nerve  of 
his  sensuous  nature.  She  felt  the  pressure  of  his  hand, 
the  changed  and  softened  inflections  of  his  voice,  she  knew 
the  words  of  her  fate  were  trembling  on  his  lips,  and  yet 
they  did  not  come !  The  shadow  of  that  pale  hand  at 
Beaumanoir,  weak  and  delicate  as  it  was,  seemed  to  lay 
itself  upon  his  lips,  when  about  to  speak  to  her,  and  snatch 
away  the  woids  which  Angdlique,  trembling  with  anticipa- 
tion, was  ready  to  barter  away  body  and  soul  tp  hear 
spoken.  '  ' 

In  a  shady  passage  through  a  thick  greenery  where  the 
lights  were  dimmer  and  no  one  was  near,  she  allowed  his 
arm  for  a  moment  to  encircle  her  yielding  form,  and  she 
knew  by  his  quick  breath  that  the  words  were  moulded  in 
his  thoughts,  and  were  on  the  point  to  rush  forth  in  a  tor- 
rent of  speech.  Still  they  came  not,  and  Bigot  again,  to 
her  unutterable  disgust,  shied  off  like  a  full-blooded  horse 
which  starts  suddenly  away  from  some  object  by  the  way- 
side and  throws  his  rider  headlong  on  the  ground.  So  again 
were  dashed  the  ardent  expectations  of  Ang^lique. 


•*  A(7  SPEECH  OF  SILKr  ETC, 


3*9 


the 
his 
she 
d  in 
tor- 
II,  to 
lorse 
way- 
gain 


*  She  listened  to  the  gallant  and  gay  speeches  of  Bigot, 
which  seemed  to  flutter  like  birds  round  her,  but  never  lit 
on  the  ground  where  she  had  spread  her  net  like  a  crafty 
fowler  as  she  was,  until  she  went  almost  mad  with  sup- 
pressed anger  and  passionate  excitement.  But  she  kept 
on  replying  with  badinage  light  as  his  own,  and  with  laugh* 
ter  so  soft  and  silvery,  that  it  seemed  a  gentle  dew  from 
heaven,  instead  of  the  drift  and  flying  foam  of  the  storm 
that  was  raging  in  her  bosom. 

She  read  and  re-read  glimpses  of  his  hidden  thoughts 
that  went  and  came  like  faces  in  a  dream,  and  she  saw  in 
her  imagination  the  dark  pleading  eyes  and  pale  face  of 
the  lady  of  Beaumanoir.  It  came  now  like  a  revelation, 
confirming  a  thousand  suspicions  that  Bigot  loved  that 
pale,  sad  face  too  well,  ever  to  marry  Angdlique  des  Mel- 
oises  while  its  possessor  lived  at  Beaumanoir — or  while  she 
lived  at  all ! 

And  it  came  to  that  !  In  this  walk  with  Bigot  round 
the  glorious  garden,  with  God's  flowers  shedding  fragrance 
around  them  ;  with  God's  stars  shining  overhead  above  all 
the  glitter  and  illusion  of  the  thousand  lamps,  Angdlique 
repeated  to  herself  the  terrific  words,  "  Bigot  loves  that 
pale,  sad  face  too  well  ever  to  marry  me,  while  its  possess- 
or lives  at  Beaumanoir — or  while  she  lives  at  all ! " 

The  thought  haunted  her !  It  would  not  leave  her  I 
She  leaned  heavily  upon  his  arm,  as  she  swept  like  a  queen 
of  Cyprus  through  the  flower-bordered  walks,  brushing  the 
roses  and  lilies  with  her  proud  train  and  treading  with  as 
dainty  a  foot  as  ever  bewitched  human  eye,  the  white 
paths  that  led  back  to  the  grand  terrace  of  the  palace. 

Her  fevered  imagination  played  tricks  in  keeping  with 
her  fear.  More  than  oncie  she  fancied  she  saw  the  shadowy 
form  of  a  beautiful  woman  walking  on  the  other  side  of 
Bigot  next  his  heart  !  it  was  the  form  of  Caroline  bearing  a 
child  in  one  arm  and  claiming  by  that  supreme  appeal  to 
a  man's  heart,  the  first  place  in  his  affections. 

The  figure  sometimes  vanished,  sometimes  reappeared 
in  the  same  place,  and  once  and  the  last  time  assumed  the 
figure  and  look  of  Our  Lady  of  St.  Foye,  triumphant  after  a 
thousand  sufferings,  and  still  ever  bearing  the  face  and 
look  of  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir. 

Emerging  at  last  from  the  dim  avenue  into  the  full  light, 
where  a  fountain  sent  up  showers  of  sparkling  crystals,  the 
figure  vanished  and  Angdique  sat  down  on  a  quaintly 


330 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OK. 


I*- 


'  carved  seat  under  a  mountain  ash,  very  tired  an  i  profouiKi 

ly  vexed  at  all  things  and  with  everybody. 

A  servant  in  gorgeous  livery  brought  a  message  froni 
III ,  the  ball-room  to  the  Intendant. 

He  was  summoned  for  a  dance,  but  he  would  not  leave 
Angelique,  he  said.  But  Angt^lique  begged  for  a  short  rest. 
"  It  was  so  pleasant  in  the  garden."  She  would  remain 
by  the  fountain.  "  She  liked  its  sparkling  and  splashing,  it 
refreshed  her  ;  the  Intendant  could  come  for  her  in  half  an 
hour  ;  she  wanted  to  be  alone  ;  she  felt  in  a  hard,  unamia- 
ble  mood,"  she  said,  "  and  he  only  made  her  worse  by  stop- 
ping with  her  when  others  wanted  him,  and  he  wanted 
others  1 " 

The  Intendant  protested  in  terms  of  the  warmest 
gallantry,  that  he  would  not  leave  her,  but  seeing  Angelique 
really  desired  at  the  present  moment  to  be  alone,  and 
i  reflecting  that  he  was  himself  sacrificing  too  much  for  the 

sake  of  one  Goddess,  while  a  hundred  others  were  adorned 
and  waiting  for  his  oiferings  he  promised  in  half  an  hour 
to  return  for  her  to  this  spot  by  the  fountain,  and  proceeded 
towards  the  Palace.  - 

Angelique  sat  watching  the  play  and  sparkle  of  the 
fountain  which  she  compared  to  her  own  vain  exertions  to 
fascinate  the  Intendant,  and  thought  that  her  efforts  had 
been  just  as  brilliant  and  just  as  futile. 

She  was  sadly  perplexed.  There  was  a  depth  in 
Bigot's  character  which  she  could  not  fathom,  a  bottomless 
abyss  into  which  she  was  falling  and  could  not  save  her- 
self. Whichever  way  she  turned  the  eidolon  of  Caroline 
met  her  as  a  bar  to  all  further  progress  in  her  design  upon 
the  Intendant. 

The  dim  half  vision  of  Caroline  which  she  had  seen  in 
the  pleached  walk  she  knew  was  only  the  shadow  and  pro- 
jection of  her  own  thoughts,  a  brooding  fancy  which  she 
hac  unconsciously  conjured  up  into  the  form  of  her  hated 
riva  The  addition  of  the  child  was  the  creation  of  the 
deep  and  jealous  imaginings  which  had  often  crossed  her 
mind.  She  thought  ')f  that  yet  unborn  pledge  of  a  once 
mutual  affection  as  the  secret  sf  ell  by  which  Caroline,  pale 
and  feeble  as  she  was,  still  held  the  heart  of  the  Intendant 
in  some  sort  of  allegiance. 

"  It  is  that  vile,  weak  thing ! "  sa'd  she  bitterly  and 
angrily  to  herself,  *'  which  is  stronger  than  I.  It  is  by 
that  she  exc'tes  his  pity  and  pity  draws  after  it  the  renewaJ 


';■%.. 


-A^o  srs£C//  OP  s/r.kT  Kix, 


33  > 


of  his  love.  If  the  hope  of  what  is  not  yet,  be  so  potent 
with  Bigot,  what  will  not  the  reality  prove  ere  long?  The 
annihilation  of  all  my  brilliant  anticipations  I  I  have 
drawn  a  blank  in  life's  lottery,  by  the  rejection  of  Le  Gar- 
deur  for  his  sake  !  It  is  the  hand  of  that  shadowy  babe 
which  plucks  away  the  words  of  proposal  from  the  lips  d 
Bigot,  which  gives  his  love  to  its  vile  mother,  and  leaves  to 
me  the  mere  ashes  of  his  passion,  words  which  mean  nothing, 
which  will  never  mean  anything  but  insult  to  Angdlique 
des  Meloises,  so  long  as  that  woman  lives  to  claim  the 
hand  which  but  for  her  would  be  mine  !  " 

Dark  fancies  fluttered  across  the  mind  of  Angdlique 
during  the  absence  of  the  Intendant.  They  came  like  a  flight 
of  birds  of  evil  omen,  ravens,  choughs  and  owls,  the  em- 
bodiments of  wicked  thoughts.  But  such  thoughts  suited 
her  mood  and  she  neither  chid  nor  banished  them,  but  let 
them  light  and  brood  and  hatch  fresh  mischief  in  her  soul. 

She  looked  up  to  see  who  was  laughing  so  merrily  while 
she  was  so  angry  and  so  sad,  and  beheld  the  Intendant 
jesting  and  toying  with  a  cluster  of  laughing  girls  who  had 
caught  him  at  the  turn  of  the  broad  stair  of  the  Terrace. 
They  kept  him  there  in  utter  oblivion  of  Angdlique  I 
Not  that  she  cared  for  his  presence  at  that  moment  or  felt 
angry,  as  she  would  have  done  at  a  neglect  of  Le  Gardeur. 
but  it  was  one  proof  among  a  thousand  others,  that  gallant 
and  gay  as  he  was  among  the  throng  of  fair  guests  who 
were  flattering  and  tempting  him  on  every  side,  not  one  of 
them,  herself  included,  could  feel  sure  she  had  made  an 
impression  lasting  longer  than  the  present  moment  upon 
the  heart  of  the  Intendant. 

The  company  had  for  the  most  part  left  the  garden  to 
assemble  again  in  the  brilliant  ballroom,  where  louder  as 
the  spirit  of  gayety  waxed  higher,  rose  the  voluptuous 
strains  of  the  orchestra,  pouring  out  from  its  high  gallery 
as  from  a  volcano  of  harmony,  the  ravishing  airs  of  Lulli 
and  Destouches  while  the  figures  of  the  dancers  glanced  to 
and  fro  past  the  windows  of  the  ball-room,  which  opened 
broad  and  evenly  upon  the  Terrace. 

But  Bigot  had  neither  forgotten  Ang61ique  nor  himself. 
His  wily  spirit  was  contriving  how  best  to  give  an  impetiis 
to  his  intrigue  with  her  without  committing  himself  to  any 
promise  of  marriage.  He  resolved  to  bring  this  beautiful 
but  exacting  girl  wholly  under  his  power.  He  comprehend- 
ed fully  that  Angdlique  was  prepared  to  accept  his  hand  at 


332 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


"1 


any  mome'^t,  nay  almost  demanded  it,  but  the  price  of 
mat  riage  was  what  Bigot  would  not,  dared  not  pay,  and  as  a 
true  courtier  ot  the  period  he  believed  thoroughly  in  his 
ability  to  beguile  any  woman  1  e  chose  and  cheat  her  of 
the  price  she  set  upon  her  love.        :  •     :  v?«    i.A  v^h    c  '? 


- 

1 

'  r 

rf^^^rfi*)^ 

'    ■'" 

^'>^*^■  ;i!.i  :     .-    '-    .-:.     ■•;,■/■•  '.     ■•■rV 

;-;v:;^^f 

'    !  '. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

-,....,,. 

;^i!'i';i 

n.; 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  INTENDANT  S  PALACE. 


The  bevy  of  fair  girls  still  surrounded  Bigot  on  the 
trrrace  stair.  Some  of  them  stood  leaning  in  graceful 
pose  upon  the  balusters.  The  wily  girls  knew  his  artistic 
tastes,  and  their  pretty  fee^  patted  time  to  the  music,  while 
they  responded  with  ready  glee  to  the  gossiping  of  the  gay 
Intendant.  .? 

Amid  their  idle  badinage  Bigot  inserted  an  artful  in- 
quiry for  suggestion,  not  for  information,  whether  it  was 
true  that  his  friend  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  now  at  the 
Manor  House  of  Tilly,  had  become  affianced  to  his  cousin 
Hdloise  de  Lotbinibre .?  There  was  a  start  of  surprise  and 
great  curiosity  at  once  manifested  among  the  ladies,  some 
of  whon  protested  that  it  could  not  be  true,  for  they  knew 
better  in  what  direction  Le  Gardeur's  inclinations  pointed. 
Others,  more  comp  .;isionate  or  more  spiteful,  with  a 
touch  of  envy,  saia,  "  they  hoped  it  was  true,  for  he  had 
been  jilted  by  a  young  lady  in  the  city.!  Whom  they  all 
knew !  "  added  one  sparkling  demoiselle,  giving  herself  a 
twitch,  and  throwing  a  side  glance  which  mimicked  so  per- 
fectly the  manner  of  the  lady  hinted  at,  that  all  knew  in  a 
moment  she  meant  no  other  than  Ang^lique  des  Meloises ! 
They  all  laughed  merrily  at  the  conceit,  and  agreed  that 
Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would  only  serve  the  proud 
flirt  right,  by  marrying  Hdloise,  and  showing  the  world  how 
little  he  cared  for  Angdlique.  $    ? 

'  Or  how  much!  "  suggested  an  experienced  and  lively 
widow,  Madame  La  Touche.  "  I  think  his  marrying 
Hdloise  de  Lotbinifere  will  only  prove  the  desperate  con- 
dition of  his  feelings.  He  will  map  y  her,  not  because  he 
loves  her,  but  to  spite  Angelique.  I  have  known  such 
things  done  before,"  added  the  widow,  seriously,  and  the 
girls  whispered  to  one  another  that  she  had  done  it  her 
fcelf,  when  she  married  the  Sieur  La  Touche  out  of  sheei 


THE  BALL  AT  TI/F.  tNTEI^DAl^rs  PALACE. 


3i3 


vexation  at  not  getting  the  Sieiir  cle  Mame,  who  took 
another  woman  for  her  money  and  left  the  widow  to  light 
fires  where  she  could  with  her  charms !  ^ 

The  Intendant  had  reckoned  securely  on  the  success  of 
his  ruse;  the  words  were  scarcely  sj3oken  before  a  couple 
of  close  friends  of  Angdlique  found  her  out,  and  sitting 
one  on  each  side,  resting  their  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
poured  into  her  ears  an  exaggerated  story  of  the  coming 
marriage  of  Le  Gardeur  with  Ht^loise  de  Lotbinibre ! 

Angelique  believed  them  because  it  seemed  the  natural 
consequence  of  her  own  infidelity,  filse  herself,  she  had 
no  right  to  expect  him  to  be  true.  Still  loving  Le  Gardeur 
in  spite  of  her  rejection  of  him,  it  maddened  her  with 
jealousy  to  hear  that  another  had  taken  that  place  in  h.s 
affections  where  she  so  lately  reigned  supreme  and  alone. 
She  was  angry  with  him  for  what  she  called  his  **faithless- 
ness,"and  still  more  angry  at  herself  for  being  the  cause  of  it ! 

Her  friends  who  were  watching  her  with  all  a  woman's 
curiosity  and  acuteness  were  secretly  pleased  to  see  that 
their  news  had  cut  her  to  the  quick.  They  were  not  mis- 
led by  the  affected  indifference  and  gay  laughter  which 
veiled  the  resentment  which  was  plainly  visible  in  her 
agitated  bosom.  .    - '? 

Her  two  friends  left  her  to  report  back  to  their  com- 
panions, with  many  exaggerations  and  much  pursing  of 
pretty  lips  how  Angelique  had  received  their  communication. 
They  flattered  themselves  they  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
first  breaking  the  bad  tidings  to  her,  but  they  were  mis- 
taken !  Ar.gelique's  far  reaching  curiosity  had  touched 
Tilly  with  its  antennae,  and  she  had  already  learned  of  the 
visit  of  Ht^loise  de  Lotbini^re,  an  old  school  companion  of 
her  own,  to  the  Manor  House  of  Tilly. 

She  had  scented  danger  afar  off  from  that  visit.  She 
knew  that  Heloise  worshipped  l^e  Gardeur,  and  now  that 
Angelique  had  cast  him  off,  what  more  natural  than  that  he 
should  fall  at  last  into  her  snares — so  Angelique  scornfully 
termed  the  beauty  and  amiable  character  of  her  rival.  She 
was  angry  without  reason  and  she  knew  it.  But  that  made 
her  still  more  angry  and  with  still  less  reason. 

"  Bigot  1 "  said  she,  impetuoi  sly,  as  the  Intendant  re- 
joined her  when  the  half  hour  had  elapsed,  "  you  asked  mp 
a  question  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  leaning  on  the  high 
gallery  which  overlooks  the  cliffs  !    Do  you  remember  it  ? '' 


334 


TtlE  cmEf^  D'OR. 


%' 


"  I  do  ;  one  Joes  not  forget  easily  what  one  asks  ol  i 
beautiful  woman,  and  still  less  the  reply  she  makes  to  us," 
replied  he,  looking  at  her  sharply,  for  he  guessed  her  drift. 

"  Yet  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  both  the  question  and 
the  reply,  Bigot.  Shall  I  repeat  them  ?  "  said  she,  with  an 
air  of  affected  languor. 

"  Needless,  Angdlique  !  and  to  prove  to  you  the  strength 
of  my  memory  which  is  but  another  name  for  the  strength 
of  my  adr  at  )n,  I  will  repeat  it.  I  asked  you  that  night ; 
it  was  a  ^.o*  ous  night,  the  bright  moon  bhone  full  in  our 
faces  as  we  looked  over  the  shining  river,  but  your  eyes 
eclipsed  all  the  splendor  of  the  heavens;  I  asked  you  to 
give  me  your  love — I  asked  for  it  then,  Angdlique !  I  ask 
for  it  now." 

Ang<flique  was  pleased  with  the  flattery,  even  while  she 
knew  how  hollow  and  conventional  a  thing  it  was. 

"  You  said  all  that  before.  Bigot !  "  replied  she,  "  and 
you  added  a  foolish  speech,  which  I  confess  pleased  me 
that  night  better  than  now.  You  said  that  in  me  you  had 
found  the  fair  haven  of  your  desires,  where  your  bark, 
long  tossing  in  cross  seas,  and  beating  against  adverse 
winds  would  cast  anchor  and  be  at  rest.  The  phrase 
sounded  poetical  if  enigmatical,  but  it  pleased  me  some- 
how ;  what  did  it  mean,  Bigot  ?  I  have  puzzled  over  it 
many  times  since — pray  tell  me !  " 

Ang^lique  turned  her  eyes  like  two  blazing  stais  full 
upon  him  as  if  to  search  for  every  trace  of  hidden  thought 
that  lurked  in  his  countenance. 

"  I  meant  what  I  said,  Angdlique,  that  in  you  I  had 
found  the  pearl  of  price  which  I  would  rather  call  mine 
than  wear  a  king's  crown." 

"  You  explain  one  enigma  by  another.  The  pearl  of 
price  lay  there  before  you  and  you  picked  it  up  !  It  had 
been  the  pride  of  its  former  owner,  but  you  found  it  ere  it 
was  lost.     What  did  you  with  it.  Bigot  ?'* 

The  Intendant  knew  as  well  as  she,  the  drift  of  the 
angry  tide,  which  was  again  setting  in  full  upon  him,  but 
he  doubted  not  his  ability  to  escape.  His  real  contempt 
foi  women  was  the  lifeboat  he  trusted  in,  which  had 
carried  himself  and  fortunes  out  of  a  hundred  storms  and 
tempests  of  feminine  wrath.  ^       '   "^     ■    ' -^ 'rf^*f  li-; 

"  1  wore  the  precious  pearl  next  my  heart,  as  any  gal- 
lant gentleman  should  do,"  replied  he  blandly,  "  I  would 


lad 
line 


the 
but 
[mpt 
had 
and 

fould 


TUB  BALL  AT  TUB  JNTENDANPS  rAL\  m>    33J 

htve  worn  it  inside  my  heart  could  I  have  shut  it  ap 
there." 

Bigot  smiled  in  complacent  self-approval  at  his  own 
speech.  Not  so  Angdlique  !  She  was  irritated  by  his  gen- 
eral reference  to  the  duty  of  a  gallant  gentleman  to  the  sex 
and  not  to  his  own  special  duty  as  the  admirer  of  herself. 
Angtflique  was  like  an  angry  pantheress  at  this  mo- 
ment. The  darts  of  jealousy  just  planted  by  her  two  friends  • 
tore  her  side,  and  she  felt  reckless  both  as  to  what  she 
said  and  what  she  did.  With  a  burst  of  passion  not  rare 
in  women  like  her,  she  turned  her  wrath  full  upon  him  as  the 
nearest  object.  She  struck  Bigot  with  her  clenched  hand 
upon  the  breast,  exclaiming  with  wild  vehemence  : 

"  You  lie  !  Fran9ois  Bigot,  you  never  wore  me  next  your 
heart,  although  you  said  so  !  You  wear  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir  next  your  heart.  You  have  opened  your  heart  to  her 
after  pledging  it  to  me !  If  I  was  the  pearl  of  price,  you 
have  adorned  her  with  it — my  abasement  is  her  glory  1 " 
Angdlique's  tall,  straight  figure  stood  up,  magnified  with 
fury  as  she  uttered  this. 

The  Intendant  stepped  back  in  surprise  at  the  sudden 
attack.  '  id  the  blow  fallen  upon  his  face,  such  is  human 
nature,  Ligot  would  have  regarded  it  as  an  unpardonable 
insult,  but  falling  upon  his  breast,  he  burst  out  in  a  loud 
laugh  as  he  caught  hold  of  her  quivering  hand,  which  she 
plucked  passionately  away  from  him. 

The  eyes  of  Angdlique  looked  dangerous  and  full  of 
n\ischief,  but  Bigot  was  not  afraid  or  offended.  In  truth 
her  jealousy  flattered  him,  applying  it  wholly  to  himself. 
He  was,  moreover,  a  connoisseur  in  female  temper ;  he 
liked  to  see  the  storm  of  jealous  rage,  to  watch  the  rising 
of  its  black  clouds,  to  witness  the  lightning  and  the  thun- 
der, the  gusts  and  whirlwinds  of  passion,  followed  by  the 
rain  of  angry  tears,  when  the  tears  were  on  his  account. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  P'ury  as  An- 
g^lique  was  at  that  moment. 

Her  pointed  epithet,"  j^ou  lie ! "  which  it  would  have  been 
death  for  a  man  to  utter,  made  no  dint  on  the  polished 
annor  of  Bigot,  although  he  inly  resolved  that  she  should 
pay  a  woman's  penalty  for  it. 

He  had  heard  that  word  from  other  pretty  lips  before, 
but  it  left  no  mark  upon  a  conscience  that  was  one  stain, 
upon  a  life  that  was  one  fraud;  Still  his  bold  spirit  rathe  r  liked 


336 


THR  C///EAr  CtOR 


this  bold  utterance  from  an  angry  woman,  when  it  was  la 
his  power  by  a  word  to  change  her  rage  into  the  tender 
cooing  of  a  dove. 

Bigot  was  by  nature  a  hunter  of  women,  and  preferred 
the  excitement  of  a  hard  chase  when  the  deer  turns  at  bay, 
and  its  capture  gave  him  a  trophy  to  be  proud  of,  to  the 
dull  conquest  of  a  tame  and  easy  virtue,  such  as  were  most 
of  those  which  had  fallen  in  his  way. 

"Angdlique !  "  said  he,  "this  is  perfect  madness  ;  what 
means  this  burst  of  anger  ?  Do  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
my  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Bigot !  I  doubt  it  and  I  deny  it.  So  long  as  you 
keep  a  mistress  concealed  at  Beaumanoir,  your  pledge  to 
me  is  false  and  your  love  an  insult." 

**  You  are  too  impetuous  and  too  imperious,  Ang^lique  I 
I  have  promised  you  she  shall  be  removed  from  Beaumanoir 
and  she  shall — "  ...  ■    --^i  v^-  :i■ 

"  Whither,  and  when  ?  "  '  '  ' 

"  To  the  city,  and  in  a  few  days— she  can  live  there  in 
quiet  seclusion.     I  cannot  be  cruel  to  her,  Ange'lique." 

"  But  you  can  be  cruel  to  me.  Bigot,  and  will  be  unless 
you  exercise  the  power  which  I  know  is  placed  in  your 
hands  by  the  king  himself." 

"  What  is  that,  to  confiscate  her  lands  and  goods  if  she 
had  any?" 

"  No,  to  confiscate  her  person  !  Issue  a  lettre  de  cachet 
and  send  her  over  sea  to  the  Bastile." 

Bigot  wab  irritated  at  this  suggestion,  and  his  irritation 
was  narrowly  watched  by  Angdlique. 

''  I  would  rather  go  to  the  Bastile  myself  !"  exclaimed 
he,  "  besides  the  king  alone  issues  lettres  de  cachet.  It  is  a 
royal  prerogative,  only  to  be  used  in  matters  of  state." 

"  And  matters  of  love,  Bigot !  which  are  matters  of  state 
in  France  !  Pshaw !  as  if  I  did  not  know  that  the  kihg  del- 
egates his  authority  and  gives  lettres  de  cachet  in  blank  to 
his  trusted  courtiers,  and  even  to  the  ladies  of  his  court. 
Did  not  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  send  Mademoiselle 
Vaubernier  to  the  Bastile  lor  only  smiling  upon  the  king  \ 
It  is  a  small  thing  I  ask  of  you,  Bigot,  to  test  your  fidelity, 
you  cannot  refuse  me,  come  !  "  added  she,  with  a  wondrous 
transformation  of  look  and  manner  from  storm  and  gloom 
to  warmth  and  sunshine.  L-Ji^/i   v  ;  "  K'  i'M^i; ;  ";  •  '^^^V:  ^' 

^  I  cannot  and  will  not  do  it.     Hark  you,  Aogdlique^ 


'\ 


THE  BALL  A  T  THE  INTESDANTS  PALACE. 


337 


I  dare  not  do  it  1  Powerful  as  I  may  seem,  the  family  of 
that  lady  is  too  potent  to  risk  the  experiment  upon.  1 
would  fain  oblige  you  in  this  matter,  but  it  would  be  the 
height  of  madnOss  to  do  so." 

"Well  then,  Bigot,  do  this,  if  you  will  not  do  thatl 
Place  her  in  the  convent  of  the  Ursulines.  It  will  suit  her 
and  me  both.  No  better  place  in  the  world  to  tame  an 
unruly  spirit.  She  is  one  of  the  pious  souls  who  will  be  at 
home  there,  with  plenty  of  prayers  and  penances,  and 
plenty  of  sins  to  pray  for  every  day." 

**  But  J  cannot  force  her  to  enter  the  convent,  Ang^liquc. 
She  will  think  herself  not  good  enough  to  go  there  ;  besides 
the  nuns  themselves  would  have  scruples  to  receive  her." 

"Not  \i you  request  her  admission  of  Mbre  de  la  Nativ- 
ity. The  lady  superior  will  refuse  no  application  of  yours, 
Bigot." 

"  Won't  she  I  but  she  will !  The  Mbre  de  la  Nativitd 
considers  me  a  sad  reprobate,  and  has  already  when  I 
visited  her  parlor  read  me  a  couple  of  sharpest  homilies 
on  my  evil  ways,  as  she  called  them.  The  venerable  M^re 
de  la  Nativitd  will  not  carry  coals,  T  assure  you,  Ang^lique." 

"As  if  I  did  not  know  her!  "  replied  she  impatiently, 
"  why  she  screens  with  all  her  authority  that  wild  nephew 
of  hers,  the  Sieur  Varin.  Nothing  irritates  her  like  hearing 
a  bad  report  of  him,  and  although  she  knows  all  that  is 
said  of  him  to  be  true  as  her  breviary,  she  will  not  admit 
it.  The  sosurs  converses  in  the  laundry  were  put  on  bread 
and  water  with  prayers  for  a  week,  only  for  repeating  some 
gossip  they  had  heard  concerning  him." 

."  Aye !  that  is  because  the  venerable  M^re  Superior  is 
touchy  on  the  point  of  family — but  I  am  not  her  nephew, 
voild  la  differance  !*^'S>  the  song  says." 

"  Well !  but  you  are  her  nephew's  master  and  pat- 
ron," replied  Angdlique,  "  and  the  good  Mere  will  strain 
many  points  to  oblige  the  Intendant  of  New  France  for 
sake  of  the  Sieur  Varin.  You  do  not  know  her  as  I  do, 
Bigot."    ■ '-.'   -'^z  '       ■.•'■■^-  •  .  '   -  '■-    ; 

"What  do  you  advise,  Angdlique  ?"  asked  he,  curious 
to  see  what  was  working  in  her  brain. 

"  That  if  you  will  not  issue  a  /e^^re  de  cachet^  you  shall 
place  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  in  the  hands  of  the  Mfere 
de  la  Nativity  with  instructions  to  receive  her  into  'he  cori' 
munity  after  the  shortest  probation." 

-   -'^-^     ■■         •      -  22 


.1!^ 


33S 


THE  C///L\  U^OK 


"Very  good,  Angdlique !  But  if  I  do  not  know  thi 
Mire  Superior,  you  do  not  know  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir. 
There  are  reasons  wliy  the  nuns  would  not  and  cou'.i!  not 
receive  her  at  all — even  were  she  wiliiug  to  go,  as  I  think 
she  would  be.  But  I  will  provide  her  a  home  suited  to  her 
station  in  the  city,  only  you  must  promise  to  speak  to  me 
no  more  respecting  her." 

**I  will  promise  no  such  thing,  Bigot! "  said  Angdlique, 
firing  up  again  at  the  failure  of  her  ( rafty  plan  for  the  dis- 
posal o£  Caroline,  "  to  have  her  in  the  city  will  be  worse 
than  to  have  her  at  Beaumanoir." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  poor  girl,  Angt^ique  ;  you,  with 
your  surpassing  beauty,  grace  and  power  over  all  who  ap- 
proach you  "i     She  cannot  touch  you  I  " 

"  She  has  touched  me,  and  to  the  quick,  too,  already," 
she  replied,  coloring  with  passion.     "  You  love  that  girl, 
Francois  Bigot  I     I  am  never  deceived  in  men.    You  love 
her  too  well  to  give  her  up,  and  still  you  make  lo\*e  to  me 
what  am  I  to  think  ? "  ,   -  ' 

"  Think  that  you  women  are  able  to  upset  any  man's 
reason,  and  make  fools  of  us  all  to  your  own  purposes. 
Bigot  saw  the  uselessness  of  argument ;  but  she  would  not 
drop  the  topic. 

"  So  you  say,  and  so  I  have  found  it  with  others,"  re- 
plied she,  "  but  not  with  you,  Bigot.  But  I  shall  have  been 
made  the  fool  of,  unless  I  carry  my  point  in  regard  to  this 
lady." 

"Well,  trust  to  me,  Ang^lique.  Hark  you  :  there  are 
reasons  of  state  connected  with  her.  Her  father  has  pow- 
erful friends  at  Court,  and  I  must  act  warily.  Give -me 
your  hand ;  we  will  be  friends.  I  will  carry  out  your 
wishes  to  the  farthest  possible  stretch  of  my  power.  I  can 
say  no  more." 

Angdlique  gave  him  her  hand.  She  saw  she  could  not 
carry  her  point  with  the  Intendant,  and  her  fertile  brain 
was  now  scheming  another  way  to  accomplish  her  ends. 
She  had  already  undergone  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
repented  having  carried  her  resentment  so  far  ;  *  not  that 
she  felt  it  less,  but  she  was  cuni  ''ng  and  artful,  although 
her  temper  sometimes  overturnec  her  craft,  and  made 
wreck  of  her  schemes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  angry,  Bigot,  as  to  strike  you 
with  this  feel>le  hand."   Angdlique  smiled  as  she  extended 


THE  BAir  AT  THE  INTENDANT'S  PALACH. 


339 


»» 


her  dainty  fingers,  whijh,  delicate  as  they  were,  had  the 
strength  and  elasticity  of  steel. 

"  No*  so  feeble,  eithor,  Ang^lique  !  "  replied  he,laughing. 
"  few  men  could  plant  a  better  blow.  You  hit  me  on  the 
heart  fairly,  Ang^liquc." 

He  seized  her  hand,  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  Had 
Queen  Dido  possessed  that  hand,  she  would  have  held  fast 
yEncas  himself,  when  he  ran  away  from  his  engagements. 

Ang^lique  pressed  the  Intendant's  hand  with  a  grasp 
that  left  every  vein  bloodless.  "  As  I  hold  fast  to  you,  Bi- 
got, and  hold  you  to  your  engagements,  thank  God  that 
you  are  not  a  woman  !  If  you  were,  I  think  I  should  kill 
you.  But  as  you  are  a  man,  I  forgive,  and  tvike  your 
promise  of  amendment.  It  is  what  foolish  women  al- 
ways do  I " 

The  sound  of  the  music  and  the  measured  tread  of 
feet  in  the  lively  dances  were  now  plainly  heard  in  the 
pauses  of  their  conversation. 

They  rose  and  entered  the  ball-room.  The  music 
ceased,  and  recommenced  a  new  strain  for  the  Intendant 
and  his  fair  partner,  and  for  a  time  Ange'Iique  forgot  her 
wrath  in  the  delirious  excitement  of  the  dance. 

She  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  the  power  of  hiding 
her  ungracious  moods  under  a  mask  of  deceit  impene 
trable.     With  a  chameleon-like  faculty  she  could  assume 
the  complexion  of  the  company  that  surrounded  her,  when 
it  suited  her  purpose  to  do  so.  >     :. 

But  in  the  dance  her  exuberance  of  spirits  overflowed 
like  a  fountain  of  intoxicating  wine.  She  cared  not  for 
things  past  or  future,  in  the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  present. 

Her  voluptuous  beauty,  lissomeness  and  grace  of  move- 
ment enthralled  all  eyes  with  admiration,  as  she  danced 
with  the  Intendant,  who  was  himself  no  mean  votary  of 
Terpsichore.  A  lock  of  her  long  golden  hair  broke  loose, 
and  streamed  in  wanton  disorder  over  her  shoulders  ;  but 
she  heeded  it  not, — carried  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  dance, 
and  the  triumph  of  present  possession  of  the  courtly  In- 
tendant. Her  dainty  feet  flashed  under  her  flying  robe, 
and  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  the  floor,  as  they  kept  lime 
lo  the  swift  throbbings  of  the  music. 

The  Intendant  gazed  with  rapture  on  his  beautiful  part- 
ner, is  she  leaned  upon  his  arm  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance, 
and  :hought  more  than  once  that  the  world  would  be  well 


340 


TIIK  cm  EN  [fOR. 


lost  for  sake  of  such  a  woman.  It  was  but  a  passing 
fancy,  however,  the  serious  mooil  passed  away,  and  he 
waA  weary,  long  before  An«i;dlique,  of  the  excitement  and 
breathless  heat  of  a  wild  Polish  dance,  recently  first  heard 
of  in  French  society.  He  led  her  to  a  seat,  and  left  her  in 
the  centre  of  a  swarm  of  admirers,  and  passed  into  an  al 
oove  to  cool  and  rest  himself. 


■'-•a' 


>..■  J 


rjr 


.  .'1 ;  .. ; 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


"on   with  the  dance." 


.1  .'(1       ,  t  /       .,:  »  . 
> ' 


Bigot,  a  voluf  tuary  in  every  sense,  craved  a  change 
of  pleasure.  He  was  never  satisfied  long  with  one,  however 
pungent.  He  felt  it  as  a  relief  when  Ang^lique  went  off 
like  a  laughing  sprite  upon  the  arm  of  De  Pean.  "  I  am 
glad  to  get  rid  of  the  women  sometimes,  and  feel  like  a 
man,"  he  said  to  Cadet,  who  sat  drinking  and  telling  stories 
with  hilarious  laughter  to  two  or  three  boon  companions, 
and  indulging  in  the  coarsest  jests  and  broadest  scandal 
about  the  ladies  at  the  ball,  as  they  passed  by  the  alcove 
where  they  were  seated. 

The  eager  persistence  of  Ang61ique  in  her  demand  for 
a  /<?///*<?  tfe  cachet  to  banish  the  unfortunate  Caroline,  had 
wearied  and  somewhat  disgusted  Bigot. 

"  I  would  cut  the  throat  of  any  man  in  the  world  for 
the  sake  of  her  bright  eyes,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  she  gave 
him  a  parting  salute  with  her  handkerchief ;  "  but  she  must 
not  ask  me  to  hurt  that  poor  foolish  girl  at  Beaumanoir. 
No,  by  St.  Picot !  she  is  hurt  enough  already,  and  I  will 
not  have  Angdlique  tormenting  her !  What  merciless  crea- 
tures women  are  to  one  another,  Cadet ! "  said  he,  aloud. 

Cadet  looked  up  with  red,  inflamed  eyes,  at  the  remark 
of  Bigot.  He  cared  nothing  for  women  himself,  and  never 
hesitated  to  show  his  contempt  for  the  whole  sex. 

"  Merciless  creatures,  do  you  call  them,  Bigot !  the 
claws  of  all  the  c  its  in  Caen  could  not  match  the  finger- 
nails of  a  jealous  voman — still  less  her  biting  tongue 


w 


••  ON  WITH  THE  DAXCEr 


34« 


"  And  they  .ire  all  eitlicr  envious  or  jealous,  I  believe^ 
Cadet,"  replied  Bigot,  laughinp^. 

"  Either  envious  or  je.ilous  !  "  exclaimed  Cadet,  contemp- 
tuously ;  "  they  are  all  both  the  ono  and  the  other,  tame  cats 
in  their  maudlin  aflfections,  purring  and  rubbing  against  you 
one  moment,  wild  cats  in  ihcir  anger,  Hying  at  you  and 
drawing  blood  the  next.  ^ICsop's  [whXo.  of  the  cat  turned 
woman,  who  forsook  her  bridal  bed  ir>  catch  a  mouse,  is  as 
true  of  the  sex  ar.  if  he  had  been  thtir  niaker. 

"All  the  cats  in  Caen  could  not  have  matched  Pretiosa, 
eh.  Cadet  ?  "  replied  Higot,  with  allusion  to  a  nocturnal 
adventure,  from  which  Cadet  had  escaped,  like  f  abius, 
discimtA  tunicd.  "  Pretiosa  proved  to  an  ocular  dcmonstra 
tion  that  no  wild  cat's  claws  can  C-iual  the  nails  of  a  jeal- 
ous woman."  .  ' : 

The  Intendant's  quip  roused  the  mciiiment  of  the 
party,  and  Cadet,  who  gloried  in  every  ohame,  laughed 
loudest  of  them  all. 

"  Sauve  qui  petit !  Bigot,"  ejaculated  he,  hliaking  his 
lusty  sides.  "I  left  some  of  my  hair  -.i  *he  fingers  of 
Pretiosa,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it  I  'vas  as  hand- 
somely tonsured  as  the  Abbe'  de  Bernis  !  But  wait.  Bigot, 
until  your  own  Pretiosa  overtakes  you  on  the  road  to  ruin, 
in  company  with— don't  twitch  me,  Martel,  you  are  drunk  ! 
Bigot  does  not  care  a  fig  what  we  say." 

This  was  addressed  to  his  companion,  who  stood  some- 
what in  awe  of  the  Intendant,  but  needlessly,  as  Cadet 
well  knew ;  for  among  his  familiars  Bigot  was  the  most 
free  of  boon  companions.  He  delighted  in  the  coarsest 
allusions,  and  was  ever  ready  to  give  and  take  the  broadest 
personal  gibes  with  good  humi  r  md  utter  indifference  to 
character  or  reputation. 

The  Intendant,  with  a  loud  explosion  of  laughter,  sat 
down  to  the  table,  and  holding  out  a  long-stemmed  goblet 
of  Beauvais  to  be  filled  viih  sparkling  wine,  replied  gaily  : 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word.  Cadet,  though  you  did 
not  know  it !  My  Pretiosa  yonder,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
Angdlique,  who  flashed  by  in  the  dance,  "  would  put  to 
his  trumps  |^  best  player  in  Paris  to  win  the  odd  trick  of 
her — and  not  count  by  honors,  either  !  "  -      't 

"  But  you  will  win  Ihe  odd  trek  of  that  girl  yet,  Bigot, 
and  not  count  by  ho  lors,  either !  or  I  know  nothing  of 
women,"  replied  Cadet,  bluntly.    "  They  are  all  alike,  only 


34* 


THE  C  HI  EN  n  OR. 


some  are  more  likely.  The  pipers  of  Poictiers  never  played 
a  spring  that  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  would  not  dance  to  I 
Look  at  De  Pean,  how  pleased  he  is  with  her  I  She  is 
fooling  him  to  his  very  finger  ends.  He  believes  she  is 
dancing  with  him,  and  all  the  time  she  is  dancing  to  nobody 
but  >'<?«,  Bigot  I" 

"  Well,  I  rather  admire  the  way  she  leads  De  Pean 
such  a  dance  !  She  makes  a  jolly  fool  of  him,  and  she 
knows  I  see  it,  too." 

"  Just  like  them  all !  full  of  deceit,  as  an  egg  of  Satan 
is  full  of  mischief !  Damn  them  all !  Bigot !  A  man  is 
not  worth  his  salt  in  the  world,  until  he  has  done  with  the 
women  I" 

*'  You  are  a  Cynic  !  Cadet,"  replied  Bigot,  laughing. 
**  Diogenes  in  his  tub  would  call  you  brother,  and  ask  you 
to  share  his  house.  But  Athens  never  produced  a  girl 
like  that.  Aspasia  and  Thais  were  not  fit  to  light  her  to 
bed." 

"  Ang^lique  will  go  without  a  light,  or  I  am  mistaken, 
Bigot !  But  it  is  dry  talking,  take  another  glass  of  Cham- 
pagne, Bigot !  "  Cadet  with  a  free  hand  filled  for  Bigot 
and  the  others.  The  wine  seemed  gradually  to  mollify  his 
harsh  opinion  of  the  sex. 

"I  know  from  experience.  Bigot,"  continued  he  after  he 
had  drank,  "  that  every  man  is  a  fool  once  at  least  in  his 
lifetime  to  women,  and  if  you  lose  your  wits  for  Angdlique 
des  Meloises,  why  she  is  pretty  enough  to  excuse  you. 
Now  that  is  all  I  have  got  to  say  about  her !  Drink  again, 
Bigot!" 

Ang^lique  whirled  again  past  the  alcove,  without  look- 
ing in  except  by  a  glance  so  quick  and  subtle,  that  Ariel 
herself  could  not  have  caught  it.  She  saw  the  eyes  of  the 
[ntendant  following  her  motions,  and  her  feet  shot  a  thou- 
sand scintillations  of  witchery,  as  her  robe  fluttered  and 
undulated  round  her  shapely  limbs,  revealing  beauties  which 
the  freedom  of  the  dance  allowed  to  flash  forth  without 
censure,  except  on  the  part  of  a  few  elderly  matrons  who 
sat  exchanging  comments,  and  making  comparisons  be- 
tween the  looks  and  demeanor  of  the  various '•ftncers. 
■^  "  Observe  the  Intendant,  Madame  Couillard !  "  exclaim- 
ed Madame  de  Grandmaison.  "  He  has  not  taken  his 
eyes  off  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  for  the  last  ten  minutes, 
and  she  knows  it !  the  forward  minx !     She  would  not 


'*0N  WITIT  THE  DANCE." 


343 


aim- 
hia 

utes, 
not 


dance  with  such  zest,  merely  to  please  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean,  whom  she  hales.  I  think  the  Intendant  would  look 
better  on  the  floor  dancing  with  some  of  our  girls,  who  are 
waiting  for  the  honor,  instead  of  drinking  wine  and  rivet- 
ing his  eyes  upon  that  piece  of  assurance  !  " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Madame  de  Grandmaison,** 
replied  Madame  Couiilard,  who  having  no  daughters  to 
brikig  out,  could  view  the  matter  more  philosophically  than 
her  friend.  "  But  they  say  the  Intendant  particularly 
admires  a  fine  foot  and  ankle  in  a  woman  !  " 

"  I  think  so,  by  the  way  he  watches  her's,"  was  the  tart 
reply,  "  and  she  humors  his  taste  too  !  Angelique  is  vain 
of  her  foot  as  she  is  of  her  face.  She  once  vexed  the  entire 
convent,  by  challenging  them  all,  pupils,  nuns  and  postu- 
lantes  to  match  the  perfect  symmetry  of  her  foot  and  leg ! 
She  would  make  the  world  her  footstool  when  she  came 
out !  she  told  them,  and  she  laughed  in  the  face  of  the  ven- 
erable Mbre  de  la  Nalivite,  who  threatened  her  with  heavy 
penances  to  atone  for  the  wicked  words  she  uttered." 

"  And  she  defies  the  world  still,  as  she  used  to  defy 
the  convent,"  replied  Madame  Couiilard,  quite  genteelly 
shocked.  "  Look  at  her  now,  did  you  ever  see  such  abandon^ 
and  how  the  gentlemen  all  admire  her  !  Well,  girls  have 
no  shame  now  a  days !  I  am  glad  I  have  no  daughters, 
Madame  de  Grandmaison  ! " 

This  was  a  side  shot  of  Madame  Couiilard  at  her  friend, 
and  it  went  home.  Madame  Couiilard  never  scrupled 
to  make  a  target  of  a  friend,  if  nothing  better  offered. 
"  Nieces  are  just  as  bad  as  daughters  !  Madame  Couiilard  !  " 
replied  the  matron,  bridling  up  and  directing  a  half  scornful 
look  at  a  group  of  lively  girls,  who  were  engaged  in  a  des- 
perate flirtation  upon  the  seats  farthest  under  the  gallery, 
and  as  they  supposed  well  out  of  sight  of  their  keen  chap- 
erore,  who  saw  them  very  well,  however,  but  being  satisfied 
with  the  company  they  were  in,  would  not  see  more  of 
them  than  the  occasion  called  for !  Madame  Couiilard 
huJ  sji.  her  mind  upon  bestowing  the  care  and  charge  of 
her  troublesome  nieces  upon  young  De  la  Roque  and  the 
Sieur  de  Bourget,  she  was  therefore  delighted  to  see  her 
pretty  brace  of  mancatchers  running  down  the  game  so 
handsomely. 

The  black  eyed  girls,  gay  as  Columbines,  and  crafty  as 
their  aunt  herself,  plied  their  gallants  with  a  very  fair  imi 


344 


THi:  CniEN  D'OR. 


tation  o£  the  style  and  manner  of  Angelique,  as  the  most 
effectual  mode  of  ensnaring  the  roving  fancies  of  their 
gallants.  They  all  hated  Angelique  cordially  for  the  airs 
they  accused  her  of  putting  on,  and  still  more  for  the  suc- 
cess of  her  airs,  but  did  their  utmost,  nevertheless,  to 
copy  her  peculiar  style,  and  so  justified  by  this  feminine 
homage,  her  clai.n  to  look  down  upon  them  with  a  sort  of 
easy  superiority,  as  the  Queen  of  fashion  in  the  gay  society 
of  the  capital. 

"  Angelique    likes    to  dance   with   the   Chevalier   de 
Pean  !  "  replied  Madame  Couillard,   quickly  turning  the 
conversation  to  less  personal  ground.     "  She  thinks  that 
his  ugliness  sets  off  her  own  attractions  to  greater  advan 
tage  !     That  is  why  she  dances  with  him  ! " 

"  And  well  may  she  think  so  !  for  an  uglier  man  than 
the  Chevalier  de  Pean  is  not  to  be  found  in  New  France. 
My  daughters  all  think"  so  too !  "  replied  Madame  de 
Grandmaison,  who  felt  with  some  resentment  that  her  own 
daughters  had  been  slighted  by  the  rich  though  ugly  Chev 
alier  de  Pean. 

"  Yes,  De  Pean  avoided  them  all  the  evening,  although 
they  looked  their  eyes  out  the  way  he  was,"  thought 
Madame  Couillard  to  herself,  but  spoke  in  her  politest 
manner. 

"  But  he  is  rich  they  say  as  Croesus,  and  very  influen- 
tial with  the  Intendant !  Few  girls  now-a-d::ys  would  mind 
his  ugliness  any  more  than  Angelique,  for  Uie  sake  of  his 
wealth  !  But  Angelique  knows  she  is  drawing  the  eyes  of 
the  Chevalier  Bigot  after  her.  That  is  enough  for  her  I  She 
would  dance  with  a  Hobgoblin  to  charm  the  Intendant, 
with  her  pretty  paces  !  " 

"  She  has  no  shame  !  I  would  cut  the  feet  off  my  girls 
if  they  presumed  to  step  striding  about  as  she  does,"  re- 
plied Madame  de  Grandmaison,  with  a  look  of  scorn  on 
lip  and  eyebi  ow.  "  I  always  taught  my  daughters  a 
chaste  and  modest  demeanor,  I  trained  them  properly 
when  young.  I  used  i.i  Creole  fashion  to  tie  their  ankles 
together  with  a  ribbon  when  in  the  house,  and  never  per- 
mitted them  to  exceed  the  length  of  two  spans  at  a  step. 
It  is  that  gives  the  nice  tripping  walk  which  the  gentlemen 
so  much  admire,  and  which  everyone  notices  in  my  girls 
and  in  myself,  Madame  Couillard  !  I  learned  the  secret  in 
the  Antilles,  where  the  ladies  all  learn  to  walk  like  angels." 


••  Oy  WITIf  THE  DAiVCR^ 


345 


**  Indeed !  I  often  wondered  how  the  Demoiselles 
Grandmaisons  had  acquired  that  nice  tripping  step  of 
theirs,  which  makes  them  so  distinguished  among  the  Haul 
tons  of  the  city  !  "  said  Madame  Couillard  with  an  imj>er- 
ceptible  sneer.  "  I  did  not  know  thoy  had  been  to  walk 
ing  school !  " 

"  Is  it  not  admirable  ?  You  sec,  Madame  Couillard,  gen- 
tlemen are  often  more  takon  by  the  feet  than  by  the  face." 

"  I  dare  say  when  the  feet  are  the  belter  feature  of  the 
two  !  But  men  are  such  dupes,  Madame  Gr.indmaison  I 
Some  fall  in  love  with  an  eye,  some  with  a  nose,  or  a  curl, 
a  hand,  an  ankle,  and  as  you  remark,  a  foot ;  few  care  for  a 
heart,  for  it  is  not  se(Mi.  I  know  one  gentleman  who  was 
caught  by  the  waft  of  a  skirt  asjainst  his  knee !  "  and 
Madame  Couillard  laughed  at  the  recollection  of  some 
past  incident  in  her  own  days  of  love  making. 

"  A  nice  gait  is  indeed  a  great  step  in  feminine  educa- 
tion!" was  the  summing  up  of  the  matter  by  Madame 
Grandmaison.  "  It  is  the  first  lesson  in  moral  propriety, 
and  the  foundation  of  all  female  excellence!  I  have  im- 
pressed its  importance  with  all  my  force  upon  the  good 
Ursulines,  as  being  worthy  of  a  foremost  place  in  their 
programme  of  studies  for  young  ladies  entrusted  to  their 
pious  care,  and  have  some  hope  of  its  being  adopted  by 
them.  If  it  is,  future  generations  of  our  girls  will  walk  like 
angels  on  clouds,  and  not  step  out  like  race-horses  in  the 
fashion  of  Angelique  des  Meloises." 

This  was  very  ill-natured  of  Madame  Grandmaison. 
Sheer  envy  in  fact  I  for  her  daughters  were  at  that  moment 
attitudinizing  their  best  in  imitation  of  Ang^lique's  graceLul 
movements. 

Ange'lique  des  Meloises  swept  past  the  two  matrons 
in  a  storm  of  music,  as  if  in  defiance  of  their  sage  criti- 
cisms. Her  hand  rested  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Chevalier 
de  Pean,  while  hating  the  touch  of  him.  She  had  an  ob- 
ject which  made  her  endure  it,  and  her  dissimulation  was 
perfect.  Her  eyes  transfixed  his  with  their  dazzling  look. 
Her  lips  were  wreathed  in  smiles;  she  talked  continually 
as  she  danced,  and  with  an  inconsistency  which  did  not 
seem  strange  in  her,  was  lamenting  the  absence  from  the 
ball  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny. 

"  Chevalier,"  said  she,  in  reply  to  some  gallantry  of 
her  partner,  '-most  women  take  pride  in  making  sacrifices 


;;ii,s 


346 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


^'  ii 


III 


ijijil: 


1;  '-  >w" 


of  themselves ;  I  prefer  to  sacrifice  my  admirers.  I  like 
A  man,  not  in  the  measure  of  what  I  do  for  him,  but  what 
he  will  do  for  me.  Is  not  that  a  candid  avowal,  Chevalier  ? 
Yon  like  frankness,  you  know." 

Frankness  and  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  were  unknown 
qi:intities  together;  but  he  was  desperately  smitten,  and 
would  bear  any  amount  of  snubbing  from  Angdlique. 

"  You  have  sorr.  thing  in  your  mind  you  w'sh  me  to 
do,"  replied  he,  caf^^erly.  "  I  would  poison  my  grand- 
mother, if  you  asked  me,  for  the  reward  you  could  give 


me. 


j> 


"Yes,  I  have  something  in  my  mmd.  Chevalier,  but 
iiot  concerning  your  grandmother.  Tell  me  why  you 
allowed  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigiiy  to  leave  the  city?" 

"I  did  not  allow  him  to  leave  the  city,"  said  he,  twitch- 
ing his  ugly  features,  for  he  disliked  the  interest  she  ex- 
pressed in  Le  Gardeur.  "  I  would  fain  have  kept  him  here 
if  I  could.  The  Intendant,  too,  had  desperate  need  of 
him.  It  was  his  sister  and  Colonel  Philibert  who  spirited 
..Jaim  away  from  us." 

I  "  Well,  a  ball  in  Quebec  is  not  worth  twisting  a  curl 
for  in  the  absence  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny !  "  replied 
she.  "  You  shall  promise  me  to  bring  him  back  to  the  city. 
Chevalier,  or  I  will  dance  with  you  no  more." 
V  •::  Angelique  laughed  so  gayly  as  she  said  this  that  a 
stranger  would  have  interpreted  her  words  as  all  jest. 

"  She  means  it,  nevertheless,"  thought  the  Chevalier. 
"  I  will  promise  my  best  endeavor,  Mademoiselle,"  said  he. 
setting  hard  his  teeth,  with  a  grimace  of  dissatisfaction, 
which  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  Angt^lique.  "  Moreover,  the 
Intendant  desires  his  return  on  affairs  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany, and  has  sent  raore  than  one  nessage  to  him  already, 
to  urge  his  return." 

"  A  fig  for  the  Grand  Company !  Remember,  it  is  / 
desire  his  return ;  and  it  is  my  command,  not  the  Intend- 
ant's,  which  you  are  bound,  as  i  gallant  gentleman,  to 
obey."  Angelique  would  have  n'>  divided  allegiance,  and 
the  man  who  claimed  her  favors  must  give  himself  up  body 
and  soul,  without  thought  of  redemption. 

She  felt  very  reckless  and  very  wilful  at  this  moment. 
The  laughter  on  her  lips  was  the  ebullition  of  a  hot  and  angry 
heart,  not  the  pl?y  of  a  joyous,  happy  spirit.  Bigot's  re- 
f.usal  of  a  ijUre  de  cachet  had  stung  her  pride  to  the  quick^ 


•*(7iV  WITH  THE  DAXCt 


347 


and  excited  a  feeling  of  resentment,  which  found  Its  sx- 
pression  in  the  wish  for  the  return  of  Le  Gardeur. 

"Why  do  you  desire  the  return  of  Lc  Gardeur?" 
asked  De  Pean,  hesitatingly.  Angelique  was  often  too 
frank  by  half,  and  questioners  got  from  her  more  than  they 
Lked  to  hear. 

"  Because  he  was  my  first  admirer,  and  I  never  forget 
a  true  friend,  Chevalier,"  replied  she,  with  an  undertone  of 
fond  regret  in  her  voice. 

"  But  he  will  not  be  your  last  admirer,"  replied  De 
Pean,  with  what  he  considered  a  seductive  leer,  which 
made  her  laugh  at  him.  "  In  the  kingdom  of  love,  as  in 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  the  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first 
last.     May  T  be  the  last,  Mademoiselle  ? " 

"  You  will  certainly  be  the  last,  De  Pean  ;  I  promise 
that."  Angelique  laughed  provokingly.  She  saw  the  eye 
of  the  Intendant  watching  her.  She  began  to  think  he 
remained  longer  in  the  society  of  Cadet  than  was  due  to 
herself. 

"  Thanks,  Mademoiselle,"  said  De  Pean,  hardly  know- 
ing whether  her  laugh  was  affirmative  or  negative  ;  "  but 
I  envy  Le  Gardeur  his  precedence."  ,/'. 

Ang^lique's  love  for  Le  Gardeur  \\as  the  only  key 
which  ever  unlocked  her  real  feelings.  When  the  fox 
praised  the  raven's  voice  and  prevailed  on  her  to  sing,  he 
did  not  more  surely  make  her  drop  the  envied  morsel  out 
of  her  mouth  than  did  Angelique  drop  the  mystification 
she  had  worn  so  coquettishly  before  De  Pean. 

"  Tell  me,  De  Pean,"  said  she,  "  is  it  true  or  not  that 
Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  is  consoling  himself  among  the 
woods  of  Tilly  with  a  fair  cousin  of  his,  H^loise  de  Lot- 
binibre?" 

De  Pean  had  his  revenge,  and  he  took  it.  "It  is  true, 
and  no  wonder,"  said  he,  "  they  say  H^loise  is,  without  ex- 
ception, the  sweetest  girl  n  New  France,  if  not  one  of  the 
handsomest  ' 

" Without  exception  ! "  echoed  she,  scornfully.  "The 
women  will  not  believe  that,  at  any  rate.  Chevalier.  I  do 
not  believe  it  for  one."  And  she  laughed  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  beauty.     "  Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  No,  that  were  impossible,"  replied  he,  "  while  Ange- 
lique des  Meloises  chooses  to  contest  the  palm  of  beauty." 

"I  contest  no  palm  with  her.  Chevalier;  but  I  give  you 


348 


THE  CHI  EN  DOR. 


I ',  ■ 


:!  ■:v'■f■ 


this  rosebud  fur  y  air  gallant  speech.  But,  tell  me,  what 
does  Le  Gardeur  thini  of  this  vvoi  derful  beauty?  Is  there 
any  talk  oi  marriage  ? ' 

"  There  is,  of  course,  much  talk  of  an  alliance."  De 
Pean  lied,  and  the  truth  h.d  beer,  better  for  him.  ,,4.1, 

Angtfiique  started  as  if  stung  by  a  wasp.  The  dar  ce 
ceased  for  her,  and  sl»i^  hastened  to  a  seat.  "  ?);■:  Pe.ni," 
said  she,  "  you  j>romised  to  bring  Le  Gard "ur  iorth'.vith 
back  to  the  city,  will  you  do  it?  " 

"  I  will  bring  him  b  ick,  dead  or  alive,  if  you  desiie  it ; 
but  I  must  have  time.  That  uncompiomisihg  Colonel 
Philibert  is  with  hin».  His  sister,  loo,  clings  to  him  like  a 
^ood  angel  to  the  skir^  of  a  sinner.  Since  you  desire  it  " 
— De  Pean  spoke  it  with  h'tternes;= — *'  Lc  Girdeur  shil' 
come  back,  but  I  doubt  if  it  will  be  for  his  benefit  or  yours, 
MadcmoifcUe."  '       "     ■ 

"Whri'.  io  you  mean,  De  Pean?"  asked  she,  abruptly, 
her  dark  eyes  alight  with  eager  curiosity,  not  unmingled 
with  apprclien^.on.  "  Why  do  you  doubt  it  will  not  be  for 
his  benefit  or  mine  ?     Who  is  to  harm  him  ?  " 

"  Nay,  he  will  only  harm  himself.  Angel  ique.  And,  by 
St.  Picot !  he  will  have  ample  scope  for  lioing  it  in  this 
city.  He  has  no  other  enemy  but  himself."  l3e  Pean  felt 
that  she  was  making  an  ox  of  him  to  draw  the  plough  of 
her  scheming. 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  De  Pean?"  demanded  she, 
sharply. 

"  Quite  sure.  Are  nut  all  the  associates  of  the  Grand 
Company  his  fastest  friends  ?  Not  one  of  them  will  hurt 
him,  1  am  sure."  ,-,'       •  r, 

"  Chevalier  De  Pean  ! "  said  she,  noticing  the  slight 
shrug  he  gave  when  he  said  this,  "  You  say  Le  Gardeur 
has  no  enemy  but  himself  ;  if  so,  I  hope  to  save  him  from 
himself,  nothing  woie.  Therefore,  I  want  him  back  to  the 
city." 

•  De  Pean  glanced  towards  Bigot.  "  Pardon  me,  Made- 
moiselle. Did  the  Intendant  never  speak  to  you  of  Le 
Gardeur's  abrupt  departure  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Never  !  He  has  spoken  to  you  thougii  What  did 
he  say?  "  asked  she,  with  eager  curiositv 

"  He  said  tliat  you  might  have  deti  Ineu  him  had  you 
wished,  and  he  blamed  you  for  his  departure." 
t?    De  Pean  had  a  suspicion  that  Ang^lique  had  really 


tfN  WITH  THE  DANCE." 


S49 


'ii^i 


been  instrumental  in  withdrawing  Lc  Gardeur  from  the 
clutches  of  himself  and  associates  ;  but  in  this  he  erred. 
Ang61ique  loved  Le  Gardeur,  at  least  for  her  own  sake  if 
not  for  his,  and  would  have  preferred  he  should  risk  all  the 
dangers  of  the  city  to  avoid  what  slie  deemed  the  still 
greater  dangers  of  the  country ;  and  the  greatest  of  ^hese 
in  her  opinion  was  the  fair  face  of  litjloise  de  Lotbinibre. 
While,  from  motives  of  ambition,  Angt^iique  refused  to 
marry  him  herself,  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
another  getting  the  man  whom  she  had  rejected. 

De  Pean  was  fairly  puzzled  by  her  cajirices.  He  could 
not  fathom,  but  he  dared  not  oppose  them. 

At  this  moment  Bigot,  who  had  waited  for  tiie  con- 
clusion of  a  game  of  cards,  rejoined  the  group  where  she 
sat.  .  '■' .  ,  -..vi  u  iv 

Ang(flique  drew  in  her  robe  and  made  room  for  him 
beside  her,  and  was  presently  laughing  and  talking  as  free 
from  care,  apparently,  as  an  oriole  warbling  on  a  summer 
spray.  De  Pean  courteously  withdrew,  leaving  her  alone 
with  the  Intendant.  *    '  - 

Bigot  was  charmed  for  the  moment  into  oblivion  of  the 
ady  who  sat  in  her  secluded  chamber  at  Beaumanoir. 
He  forgot  his  late  quarrel  with  Ang^lique  in  admiration 
of  her  beauty.  The  pleasure  he  took  in  her  presence  shed 
a  livelier  glow  of  light  across  his  features.  She  observed 
it  and  a  renewed  hope  of  triumph  lifted  her  into  still . 
higher  flights  of  gayety.  i    .    iU  -> 

"  Angelique,"  liaid  he,  offering  his  arm  to  conduct  her 
to  the  gorgeous  b";Tet  which  stood  loaded  with  golden 
dishes  of  fruit,  ses  of  flowers,  and  the  choicest  con- 
fectionary, with  wine  fit  for  a  feast  of  Cyprus,  "  you  are 
happy  to-night,"  are  you  not,  "  but  perfect  bliss  is  only 
obtained  by  a  judicious  mixture  of  earth  and  heaven, 
pledge  me  gayly  now  in  this  golden  wine,  Ang<ilique,  and 
ask  me  what  favor  you  will." 

"  And  you  will  grant  it  ?"  asked  she,  turning  her  eyei 
upon  him  eagerly. 

"  Lik.j  the  king  ui  the  fairy  tale,  even  to  my  uaughtcr 
and  haK  of  my  kingdom,"  replied  he,  gayly. 

"Thanks  for  half  the  kingdom,  Chevalier,"  laughed 
she ;  "  but  I  would  prefer  the  father  to  the  daughter." 
Angdlique  gave  him  a  look  of  ineffable  meaning,  "  I  do 
not  desire  a  king  to-night,  however.  Grant  me  the  litif^t  (it 
i(nchei^  and  then — • " 


w-'-  \\ 


v>  <•• 


SS<f 


THE  cniEN  lyOR. 


**  And  then  what,  Ang^lique  ?  "  He  ventured  to  take 
her  hand  which  seemed  to  tempt  the   approach  of  his. 

"  You  shall  have  your  reward.  I  ask  you  for  a  Uttted$ 
cachet,  that  is  all."  She  suffered  her  hand  to  rehiain  in 
his. 

"I  cannot,"  he  replied  sharply  to  her  urgent  repe- 
tition. "  Ask  her  banishment  from  Beaumanoir,  her  life  if 
you  like,  but  a  leftre  de  cachet  to  send  her  to  the  liastile 
I  cannot  and  will  not  give  !  " 

"But  I  ask  it,  nevertheless!"  replied  the  wilful,  pas- 
sionate girl,  "there  is  no  merit  in  your  love  if  it  ftars 
risk  or  brooks  denial  1  You  ask  me  to  make  sacrifices,  and 
will  not  lift  your  finger  to  remove  that  stumbling  block 
out  of  my  way !  A  fig  for  such  love.  Chevalier  Bigot  I  i  f  f 
were  a  man  there  is  nothing  in  earth,  heaven,  or  hell  I 
would  not  do  for  the  woman  I  loved  !  " 

Angelique  fixed  her  blazing  eyes  full  upon  him,  but 
magnetic  as  was  their  fire,  they  drew  no  satisfying  reply. 
"Who  in  Heaven's  name  is  this  lady  of  Beaumanoir  of 
whom  you  are  so  careful  or  so  afraid  .''  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Angelique,"  said  he,  quite  irritated, 
"she  may  be  a  runaway  nun,  or  the  wife  of  the  man  in 
the  iron  mask,  or —  " 

"  Or  any  other  fiction  you  please  to  tell  me  in  the  stead 
of  truth,  and  which  proves  your  love  to  be  tlu;  greatest 
fiction  of  all !  " 

"  Do  not  be  so  angry,  Angdlique,"  said  he,  soothingly, 
seeing  the  need  of  calming  down  this  impetuous  spirit, 
which  he  was  driving  beyond  ali  bounds.  B.it  he  had 
carelessly  dropped  a  word  which  she  picked  up  eagerly 
and  treasured  in  her  bosom.  "  Her  life  ! — he  said  he  would 
give  me  her  life  !  did  he  mean  it? "  thought  she,  absorbed 
in  this  new  idea. 

Angdlique  had  clutched  the  word  with  a  feeling  of 
terrible  import.  It  was  not  the  first  time  the  thought  had 
flashed  its  lurid  light  across  her  mind.  It  had  seemed 
of  comparatively  light  import  when  it  was  only  the 
suggestion  of  her  own  wild  resentment.  It  seemed  a 
word  of  terrible  power  heard  from  the  lips  of  Bigot,  yet 
Angdique  knew  well  he  did  not  in  the  least  seriously 
mean  what  he  said. 


i( 


"  It  is  but  his  deceit  and  flattery,"  she  said  to  hcrseit, "  an 
idle  phrase  o  cozen  a  woman.  I  will  not  ask  him  to  explain 


*' OS' WITH  T//E  daxce:* 


3S> 


it,  I  shall  interpret  it  in  my  own  w.iy  1  Bigot  has  said  wordi 
he  understood  not  hiniself ;  it  is  for  me  to  give  them  form 
and  meaning."     ./ 

She  grew  quiet  under  these  reflections  and  bent  her 
head  in  seeming  acquiescence  to  the  Intendant's  decision. 
The  calmness  was  apparent  only. 

"You  area  true  woman,  Aiigelique,"  said  he,  "but  no 
politician :  you  have  never  heard  thunder  at  Versailles. 
Would  that  I  dared  to  grant  your  request.  I  '>(Ter  you 
my  homage  and  all  else  I  have  to  give  you  to  half  mv 
kingdom." 

Angdlique's  eyes  flashed  fire.  "  It  is  a  fairy  tale  after 
all !  "  exclaimed  ;  she  "  you  will  not  grant  the  kttre  de 
cachet  V 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  I  dare  not  grant  that,  Angdlique ; 
anything  else —  " 

"You  dare  nut!  you  the  boldest  Intendant  ever  sent 
to  New  France,  and  say  you  dare  not !  A  man  who  is 
worth  the  name  dare  do  anythinf,";  in  the  world  for  a  woman 
if  he  loves  her,  and  for  such  a  man  a  true  woman  will  kiss 
the  ground  he  walks  on  and  die  at  his  feet  if  need  be !  " 
Ang^lique's  thoughts  reverted  for  a  moment  to  Le 
Gardeur,  not  to  Bigot,  as  she  said  this,  and  thought  how 
he  would  do  it  for  her  sake  if  she  asked  him. 

"  My  God,  Ang^lique,  you  drive  this  niatt?'"  hard,  but 
I  like  you  better  so,  than  when  you  are  in  yo  u"  silkiest 
humor."  ? 

"  Bigot,  it  were  bet<^er  you  had  granted  my  request." 
Ang^lique  clenched  her  fingers  hard  together,  and  a  cruel 
expression  lit  her  eyes  for  a  noment.  It  was  like  the 
glance  of  a  Lynx  seeking  a  hidden  treasure  in  the  ground. 
It  penetrated  the  thick  walls  of  Beaumanoir.  She  sup- 
pressed her  anger,  however,  lest  Bigot  should  guess  the 
dark  imaginings  and  half  formed  resolution  which  brooded 
in  her  mind.  j  Ini..^^ 

With  her  inimitable  power  of  transformation  she  put  on 
her  air  of  gayety  again  and  exclaimed  :  "  Pshaw  I  let  it  go, 
Bigot.  I  am  really  no  politician  as  you  say,  I  am  only  a  wom- 
an almost  stifled  with  the  heat  and  closeness  of  this  horrid 
ballroom.  Thank  God,  day  is  dawning  in  the  great  east- 
ern window  yondijr,  the  dancers  are  beginning  to  depart, 
My  brother  is  w  iiting  for  me,  I  see,  so  I  must  leave  you, 
Chevalier." 


ii 


::^\Ax.\%:i*\ 


t-A 


ss« 


Tirt  cniEiv  non. 


**  Do  not  depait  just  now,  Angdlique  I  wait  until 
breakfast,  which  will  be  prcjiared  for  the  latest  guests." 

"Thanks,  Chevalier,"  said  she,  *'  I  cannot  wait.  It  has 
been  a  gay  and  delightful  ball — to  them  who  enjoyed  it." 

"  Among  whom  you  were  one,  I  hope,"  replied  Bigot. 

'  Yes,  I  only  wanted  one  thing  to  be  perfectly  happy, 
and  that  I  could  not  ^et,  so  I  must  console  myself,"  said 
she,  with  an  air  of  rnock  resignation. 

Bigot  lonkcrl  at  her  and  laughed,  but  he  would  not  ask 
what  it  was  she  lacked.  He  did  not  want  a  scene,  and 
feared  to  exjite  her  wrath  by  mention  igain  of  the  lettre  de 
cachet. 

"  Let  rne  accompany  you  to  the  carriage,  Angt^lique," 
said  he,  handing  her  cloak  and  assisting  her  to  put  it  on. 

"Willingly,  Chevalier,"  replied  she  coquettishly,  "but 
the  Chevalier  de  Pean  will  accompany  me  to  the  door  of 
the  oressing-room.  I  promised  him."  She  had  not,  but 
she  beckoned  with  her  fiiip^er  to  him.  She  had  a  last 
injunction  for  De  Pean  which  she  cared  not  that  the 
Intendant  should  hear. 

De  Pean  was  reconciled  by  this  manoeuvre,  he  came, 
and  Angdlique  and  he  tripped  off  together.  "  Mind,  De 
Pean,  what  I  asked  you  about  Le  Gardeur  !"  said  she,  in 
an  emphatic  whisper. 

"  I  will  not  forget,"  replied  he  with  a  twinge  of 
jealousy,  "  Le  Gardeur  shall  come  back  in  a  few  days  or 
De  Pean  has  lost  his  influence  and  cunning." 

Ang^lique  gave  hirr  a  sharp  glance  of  approval,  but 
made  no  further  remark.  A  crowd  of  voluble  ladies  were 
all  telling  over  the  incidents  of  the  ball  as  exciting  as  any 
incidents  of  flood  and  ftjld  while  they  arranged  themselves 
for  departure. 

The  ball  was  fast  thinning  out.  The  fair  daughters  of 
Quebec  with  disordered  hair  ai.d  drooping  wreaths,  loose 
sandals  and  dresses  looped  and  pinned  to  hide  chance 
rents  or  other  accidents  of  a  long  night's  dancing,  were 
letirir^g  to  their  rooms  or  is-'iing  from  them,  hooded  and 
mantled,  attended  by  obsequious  cavaliers  to  accompany 
them  home. 

The  musicians  tired  out  and  half  asleep  drew  their 
bows  slowly  across  their  'iolins,  the  very  music  was  steep- 
ed in  weariness.  The  lamps  grew  dim  in  the  rays  of 
morning,    which    struggled   through   the    high   windows^ 


>> 


••  CALLING  A  KAVENOl  S  H/HD,*'  ETC» 


353 


while  mingling  with  the  last  strains  of  good  nigia  and 
bonripos,  came  a  n<  sc  of  wheels  and  the  l<>ud  shouts  oft 
valets  and  coachmc  out  in  the  fresh  air,  who  crowded 
round  the  doors  of  the  palace  to  convey  home  the  gay 
revellers  who  had  that  night  graced  the  splendid  halls  A 
the  Intendant. 

IJigot  stood  at  the  door  bowing  farewell  and  thanks  to 
the  fair  company,  when  the  tall  queenly  figure  of  Angdlique 
came  down  leaning  on  the  arm  of  liie  Chevalier  de  Pean, 
Bigot  tendered  her  his  arm,  which  she  at  once  accepted, 
and  he  accompanied  her  to  her  carriage.     .  .    .  'j  i'.' 

She  bowed  graciously  to  the  Intendant  and  De  Pean, 
on  her  departure,  but  no  sooner  had  she  driven  off,  than, 
throwing  herself  back  in  her  carriage,  heedless  of  the 
presence  of  her  brother  who  accompanied  her  home,  sunk 
into  a  silent  train  of  thoughts  from  which  she  was  roused 
with  a  start,  when  the  carriage  drew  up  sharply  at  the 
door  of  their  own  home.  ,    <  .^^  ^^^i^q. 


\m 


>-ri 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


of 
or 


"calling  a  ravenous  bird  from  the  east." 

Angelique  scarcely  noticed  her  brother  except  to  bid 
him  good  night,  when  she  left  him  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
mansion.  Gathering  her  gay  robes  in  her  jewelled  hand 
she  darted  up  the  broad  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  the 
same  in  which  she  had  received  Le  Gardeur  on  that  memor- 
able night  in  which  she  crossed  the  Rubicon  of  her  fate, 
when  she  deliberately  severed  the  oniv  tie  which  would 
have  bound  her  to  virtue  and  honor,  by  seeking  the  happi- 
ness of  Le  Gardeur  above  all  considerations  of  self. 

There  was  a  fixedness  in  her  look  and  a  recklessness 
in  her  step  that  showed  anger  and  determination.  It 
struck  Lizette  with  a  sort  of  awe,  so  that  for  once,  she  did 
not  dare  to  accost  her  young  mistress  with  her  usual  free- 
dom. The  maid  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  again  with- 
out offering  a  word,  waiting  in  the  ante-room  until  a  sun* 
mons  should  come  from  h(r  mistress.  ;     :  v  v. 


23 


J :  Vv    '  '■  \,',  M  0»  ififL&i^- 


354 


THE  cm  EN  DOR. 


Lizette  observed  that  she  bad  tlirown  hersel;  'mo  n 
fauteuil,  after  hastily  casting  off  her  mantle  whit  ii  '.i«y  ii 
her  feet.  Her  long  hair  hung  loose  over  her  sh(.(.''k''ri.  is 
it  parted  from  ail  its  combs  and  fastenings.  She  lield  he/ 
hands  clasped  hard  across  her  forehead  and  stared  will 
fixed  eyes  upon  the  fire  whicli  burned  low  on  the  hearth 
flickering  in  the  depths  of  the  antique  fireplace  and  occa 
sionally  sending  a  flash  through  the  room  which  lit  up  tht 
pictures  on  the  wail  seeming  to  give  them  life  and  move 
ment,  as  if  they,  too,  would  gladly  have  tempted  Angdiique 
to  better  thoughts.  But  she  noticed  them  not,  and  would 
not  at  that  moment  have  endured  to  look  at  them. 

Ang6lique  had  forbidden  the  lamps  to  be  lighted.  It 
suited  her  mood  to  sit  in  the  half  obscure  room,  and  in 
truth  her  thoughts  were  hard  and  cruel,  fit  only  to  be 
brooded  over  in  darkness  and  alone.  VVt  are  influenced 
by  an  inscrutable  instinct,  if  the  term  may  be  used,  to  make 
our  surroundings  an  image  of  ourselves,  the  outward  pro- 
jection of  our  habitual  thoughts,  moods  and  passions. 

The  broad  glare  of  the  lamps  would  have  been  at  this 
moment  hateful  to  Angdlique.  The  lurid  flickering  and 
flashing  of  the  dim  firelight  resembled  most  her  own 
thoughts  and  as  her  vivid  fancy  fastened  its  eye  upon  the 
embers,  they  seemed  to  change  into  images  of  all  the 
evil  things  her  imagination  projected.  She  clenched  her 
hands  and  raising  them  above  her  head,  muttered  an  oath 
between  her  teeth,  exclaiming  : 

''''Par  Dieu  !  It  must  be  done  !  It  must  be  done  !  " 
She  stopped  suddenly  when  she  had  said  that.  "  What 
must  be  done  .? "  asked  she  sharply  of  herself,  and  laughed 
a  mocking  laugh.  "  He  gave  me  her  life !  He  did  not 
mean  it  I  no  !  The  Intendent  was  treating  me  like  a  petted 
child.  He  offered  me  her  life  while  he  refused  me  a  lettre 
de  cachet !  The  gift  was  only  upon  his  false  lips,  not  in  his 
I\eart  I  but  Bigot  shall  keep  that  promise  in  spite  of  him- 
self.    There  is  no  other  way — none — !  " 

In  the  upheaval  of  her  troubled  mind,  the  image  of  her 
cfld  confessor.  Father  Vimont,  rose  up  for  a  moment  with 
signs  of  warning  in  hi  3  lifted  finger,  as  when  he  used  to 
reprove  her  for  venial  sins  and  childish  follies.  Ang^lique 
turned  away  impatiently  from  the  recollection.  She  would 
not,  in  imagination  even,  lay  hold  of  the  spiritual  hand, 
which  seemed  to  reach  forward  to  pluck  her  from  the. 
chasm  toward  which  she  was  hurrying. 


"  CALLING  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD,"  BTC. 


355 


;!" 


to 


the. 


This  was  a  new  world  AiigcHiquc  suddenly  fourtd  her 
self  in.  A  world  of  g^'^^y  lli<>u{;hts  and  unresisted  temp- 
tations, a  chaotic  world  where  black,  unscalable  rocks,  like 
a  circle  of  the  Inferno  hemnu  .1  her  in  on  every  side,  while 
devils  whispered  in  her  ears  the  words  which  gave  shape 
and  substance  to  her  secret  wishes  for  the  death  of  her 
*'  rival,"  as  she  regarded  the  poor  sick  girl  at  Ikaumanoir. 

How  was  she  to  accomplish  it?  i'o  one  unpractised  in 
actual  deeds  of  wickedness,  it  was  a  question  not  easy  to 
be  answered,  and  a  thousand  frightful  forms  of  evil,  stalking 
shapes  of  death  came  and  went  beft)re  her  imagination, 
and  she  clutched  first  at  one,  then  at  another  of  the  dire 
suggestions  that  came  in  crowds  that  overwhelmed  her 
power  of  choice. 

In  despair  to  find  an  answer  to  the  question,  "  What 
must  be  done  t  "  she  rose  suddenly  and  rang  the  bell. 
The  door  opened  and  the  smiling  face  and  clear  eye  of 
Lizette  looked  in.  It  was  Angel ique's  last  chance,  but  it 
was  lost.  It  was  not  Lizette  she  had  rung  for.  Her  reso- 
lution was  taken. 

"  My  dear  mistress  !  "  exclaimed  Lizette,  "  I  feared  you 
had  fallen  asleep.  It  is  almost  day  !  May  I  now  assist  you 
to  undress  for  bed  ?  Voluble  Lizette  did  not  always  wait 
to  be  first  spoken  to  by  her  mistress. 

"  No  Lizette,  I  was  not  asleep  ;  I  do  not  want  to  un- 
dress ;  I  have  much  to  do.  I  have  writing  to  do  before  I 
retire ;  send  Fanchon  Dodier  here."  Ange'lique  had  a 
forecast  that  it  was  necessary  to  deceive  Lizette,  who,  with- 
out a  word,  but  in  no  serene  humor  went  to  summon  Fan- 
chon to  wait  on  her  mistress. 

Fanchon  presently  came  in  with  a  sort  of  triumph  glit- 
tering in  her  black  eye.  She  had  noticed  the  ill  humor  of 
Lizette,  but  had  not  the  slightest  idea  why  she  had  been 
summoned  to  wait  on  Ang^ique,  instead  of  her  own  maid. 
She  esteemed  it  quite  an  honor,  however. 

"  Fanchon  Dodier  1 "  said  she,  "  I  have  lost  my  jewels 
at  the  ball ;  I  cannot  rest  until  I  find  them ;  you  are 
quicker  witted  than  Lizette,  tell  me  what  to  do  to  find  them 
and  I  v;ill  give  you  a  dress  fit  for  a  lady."  --  -        ■" 

Ang61ique  with  innate  craft  knew  that  her  questiorj 
would  bring  forth  the  hoped  for  reply. 

Fanchon's  eyes  dilated  with  pleasure  at  such  a  mark  of 
confidence.     "  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  she,  "  if  I  had  lost 


3S6 


THE  CHIEND'OR. 


m 


hT'^ 


^^fe 


my  jewels  I  should  know  what  to  do.  But  ladies  who  can 
read  and  write  and  who  have  the  wises*,  gentlemen  to  give 
them  counsel  do  not  need  to  seek  advice  where  poor  habitant 
girls  go  when  in  trouble  and  perplexity." 

"  And  vhere  is  that,  Fanchon  ?  where  would  you  go  if 
in  trouble  and  perplexity  .<* "       '    »  '    -      •  ".   "^^  «;    • 

"  My  Lady,  if  1  had  lost  all  my  jewels," — Fanchon's 
Icoen  eye  noticed  that  Ang61ique  had  lost  none  of  hers, 
but  she  made  no  remark  on  it,  "  if  I  had  lost  all  mine, 
I  shouk'  go  see  my  Aunt  Josephte  Dodier.  She  is  the 
wisest  woman  in  all  St.  Valier.  If  she  cannot  tell  you,  all 
you  wish  to  know,  nobody  can." 

"  What !  Dame  Josephte  Dodier,  whom  they  call  La 
Corriveau  ?    Is  she  your  aunt  ? " 

Angdlique  knew  very  well  she  was.  But  it  was  her  cue 
to  pretend  ignorance  in  order  to  impose  on  Fanchon. 

"  Yes,  ill  natured  people  call  her  La  Corriveau,  but  she 
is  my  aunt  nevertheless.  She  is  married  to  my  uncle 
Louis  Dodier,  but  is  a  lady,  by  right  of  her  mother,  who 
came  from  France,  and  was  once  familiar  with  all  the  great 
dames  of  the  Court.  It  was  a  great  secret  why  her  mother 
left  France,  and  came  to  St.  Valier ;  but  I  never  knew  what 
it  was.  People  used  to  shake  their  heads  and  cross  them- 
selves when  speaking  of  her,  as  they  do  now  when  speaking 
of  Aunt  Josephte,  whom  they  call  La  Corriveau  ;  but  they 
tremble  when  she  looks  at  them  with  her  black  evil  eye,  as 
they  call  it.  She  is  a  terrible  woman,  is  Aunt  Josephte  ! 
but  O,  Mademoiselle,  she  can  tell  you  things  past,  present, 
and  to  come.  If  she  rails  at  the  world,  it  is  because  she 
knows  every  wicked  thing  that  is  done  in  it,  and  the  world 
rails  at  her  in  return  ;  but  people  are  afraid  of  her  all  the 
same." 

f^  "  But  is  it  not  wicked  "i  Is  it  not  forbidden  by  the 
church  to  consult  a  woman  like  her,  a  sorci^re  ?  Angd- 
lique  tool,  a  sort  of  perverse  merit  to  herself  for  arguing 
against  he  r  own  resolution. 

"Yes  my  .ady!  but  although  forbidden  by  the  church, 
the  girls  all  consult  her,  ne/ertheless,  in  their  losses  and 
crosses  ;  and  many  of  the  men,  too,  for  she  does  know  what 
is  to  happen,  and  how  to  do  thin^ },  does  Aunt  Josephte. 
If  the  clergy  cannot  tell  a  poor  girl  about  her  sweetheart, 
and  how  to  keep  him  in  hand,  why  should  she  not  go  and 
consult  La  Corriveau,  who  can  ?  " 


-  CALLIXG  A  RA  VENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


357 


"  Fanchon,  I  would  n  )t  care  to  consult  your  aunt 
People  would  laugh  at  my  consulting  La  Corriveau,  like  a 
simple  habitant  girl ;   what  would  the  world  say  ?  " 

"  But  the  world  need  n3t  know,  my  Lady.  Aunt  Jose* 
phte  knows  secrets  they  say,  thu  would  ruin,  burn,  and 
hang  half  the  ladies  of  Paris,  Slie  learned  those  terrible 
secrets  from  her  mother,  but  she  keeps  them  safe  in  those 
close  lips  of  hers.  Not  the  faintest  whisper  of  one  of  thena 
has  ever  been  heard  by  her  nearest  neighbor.  Indeed  she 
has  no  gossips,  and  makes  no  friends,  and  wants  none. 
Aunt  Josephte  is  a  safe  confidante,  my  Lady,  if  you  wish  to 
consult  her." 

"  I  have  heard  she  is  clever,  supernatural,  terrible,  this 
aunt  of  yours  !  But  I  could  not  go  to  St.  Valier  for  advice 
and  help,  I  could  not  conceal  my  movements  like  a  plain 
habitant  girl." 

"  Indeed,  my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon,  touched  by  some 
personal  reminiscence,  "a  habitant  girl  cannot  conceal 
her  movements  any  more  than  a  great  lady.  A  girl  cannot 
stir  a  ep  but  all  the  Parish  is  looking  at  her  !  If  she 
goes  to  church  and  just  looks  across  at  a  young  man  they 
say  she  went  to  see  him  !  If  she  stays  away  they  say  she 
is  afraid  to  see  him.  If  she  visits  a  neighbor  it  is  in  the 
hope  of  meeting  him.  If  she  remains  at  home  it  is  to  wait 
for  him  ;  but  habitant ^vc\%  do  not  care,  my  lady.  If  they 
throw  the  net  they  catch  the  fish  sometimes !  So  it 
matter's  not  what  people  say  and  in  revenge  we  talk  about 
others  as  fast  as  others  talk  about  us." 

"  But,  my  lady,"  continued  Fanchon,  remembering  the 
objection  of  her  mistress,  "  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should 
go  to  Aunt  Josephte.  I  will  bring  Aunt  Josephte  here  to 
you.  She  will  be  charmed  to  come  to  the  city  and  serve  a 
lady  like  you." 

"  Well !  no  !  it  is  not  well ;  but  ill  !  but  I  want  to  recov- 
er my  jewels,  so  go  for  your  Aunt  and  bring  her  back  with 
you.  And  mind,  Fanchon  !  "  said  Angdlique,  lifting  a  warn  ■ 
^ing  finger,  "  if  you  utter  one  word  of  your  errand  to  man 
or  beast  or  to  the  very  trees  of  the  way  side,  I  will  cut 
out  your  tongue,  Fanchon  Dodier  !  " 

Fanchon  trembled  and  grew  pale  at  the  fierce  look  of 
her  mistress.  "  I  will  go,  my  lady,  and  I  will  keep  silent  as 
a  fish  !  "  faltered  the  maid,  "  Shall  I  go  immediately?" 

**  Immediately  if  you  will  1     It  is  almost  day  and  you 


3S« 


THE  CHIEN  D'OJi. 


li:':  I 


t^ir 


1 

{':\ 

IV 

% 

have  far  to  go.  I  will  send  old  Gujon  the  butler  to  order  an 
Indian  canoe  for  you.  J  will  not  have  Canadian  boatmen 
to  row  you  to  St.  Valier ;  they  would  talk  you  out  of  all  your 
errand  before  you  were  half  way  there.  You  shall  go  to  St. 
Valier  by  water  and  return  with  LaCorriveau  by  land.  Do 
you  understand  ?  Bring  her  in  to-night  and  not  before 
midnight.  I  will  lea  v.  the  door  ajar  for  you  to  enter  with- 
out noise  ;  you  will  show  her  at  once  to  my  apartment 
Fanchon !  Be  wary  and  do  not  delay,  and  say  not  a 
word  to  mortal !  " 

"  I  will  not,  my  Lady.  Not  a  mouse  shall  hear  us  come 
in !  "  replied  Fanchon,  quite  proud  now  of  the  secret  under- 
standing between  herself  and  her  mistress. 

"  And  again  mind  that  loose  tongue  of  yours  !  Remember 
Fanchon,  1  will  cut  it  out  as  sure  as  you  live  if  you  betray 


me. 


>> 


"  Yes,  my  lady !  "  Fanchon's  tongue  felt  somewhat 
paralysed  under  the  threat  of  Angel ique,  and  she  bit  it 
painfully  as  if  to  remind  it  of  its  duty. 

"  You  may  go  now,"  said  Ange'Iique.  "  Here  is  money  for 
you.  Give  this  piece  of  gold  to  La  Corriveau  as  an  earnest 
that  I  want  her !  The  Canotiers  of  the  St.  Lawrence  will 
also  require  double  fare  for  bringing  La  Corriveau  over  the 
ferry. 

"  No,  they  rarely  venture  to  charge  her  anything  at  all, 
my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon ;  "  to  be  sure  it  is  not  for  love, 
but  they  are  afraid  of  her.  And  yet  Antoine  La  Chance,  the 
boatman,  says  she  is  equal  to  a  Bishop  for  stirring  up  piety ; 
and  more  Ave  Marias  are  repeated  when  she  is  in  his 
boat  than  are  said  by  the  whole  Parish  on  Sunday. 

"  I  ought  to  say  my  Ave  Marias^ioo  !  "  replied  Angdlique, 
as  Fanchon  left  the  apartment.  "  But  my  mouth  is  parcl?  .d 
and  burns  up  the  words  of  prayer  like  a  furnace,  but  that 
is  nothing  to  the  fire  in  my  heart!  That  girl,  Fanchon 
JOadier,  is  not  to  be  trusted,  but  I  have  no  other  messenger 
to  send  for  La  Corriveau.  I  must  be  wary  ^ith  her  too 
and  make  her  suggest  the  thing  I  would  have  done.  My. 
Lady  of  Beaumcinoir  ! "  she  apostrophized  in  a  hard  mono- 
tone, "your  fate  does  not  depend  on  the  Intendant  as  yon 
fondly  imagine.  Better  had  he  issued  the  lettre  de  cachet 
than  for  you  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  La  Corriveau  !  " 

Daylight  now  shot  into  the  windows  and  the  bright  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  streamed  full  in  the  face  of  Ang*.  '"que. 


''CALLING  A  RAV^ENOUS  B/hUK'  ETC. 


359 


She  saw  herself  reflected  in  the  large  Venetian  mirror.  Her 
countenance  looked  pale,  stern  and  tixed  as  marble.  The 
fire  in  her  eyes  startled  her  with  its  unearthly  j^low.  She 
trembled  and  turned  away  from  her  mirror  and  crept  to  her 
couch  like  a  guilty  thing  with  a  feeling  as  if  she  was  old, 
haggard  and  doomed  to  shame  for  the  sake  of  this  Intend- 
ant,  who  cared  not  for  her,  or  he  would  not  have  driven 
jier  to  sucli  desperate  and  wicked  courses  as  never  fell  to 
the  lot  of  a  woman  before." 

"  Cesi  la /ante  a  lui  !  Cest  la  faiiie  a  liii  f"  exclaimed 
she,  clasping  her  hands  passionately  together.  "  If  she 
dies,  it  is  his  fault  not  mine  I  1  prayed  him  to  banish  her, 
and  he  would  not !  C'est  la /ante  a  lui  I  Cest  lafaute  a  luil 
Repeating  these  words  Angelique  fell  into  a  feverish  slum- 
ber, broken  by  frightful  dreams  which  lasted  far  on  into 
the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


LA   CORRIVEAU. 


The  long  reign  of  Louis  Quatorze,  full  of  glories  and 
misfortunes  for  France,  was  marked  towards  its  close  by  a 
portentous  sign  indicative  of  corrupt  manners  and  :i  falling 
state.  Among  these  the  crimes  r  f  secret  poisoning  sudden- 
ly attained  a  magnitude  which  filled  the  whole  natioii  with 
terror  and  alarm. 

Antonio  Exili,  an  Italian,  like  many  other  alchemists 
of  that  period,  had  spent  yea.?  in  search  cf  the  philosopher's 
stone  and  the  elixir  of  life.  His  vain  experiments  to  trans- 
mute the  baser  metals  into  gold  reduced  him  to  poverty 
and  want.  His  quest  after  these  secrets  had  led  him  to  study 
deeply  the  nature  and  composition  of  poisons  and  their 
antidotes.  He  had  visited  the  great  universities  and  other 
schools  of  the  continent,  finishing  his  scientific  studies 
under  a  famous  German  Chemist  named  Glaser.  But  the 
terrible  secret  of  i!  e  Aqua  '7'ofma  and  of  the  Foudre  ile 
succession^  Exili  learned  from  Beatrice  Spara,  a  Sicilian, 
with  whom  he  had  a  liaison,  one  of  those  inscrutable  beings 
of  the  gentler  sex  whose  lust  for  pleasure  or  power  is  only 


360 


ITE  CHJEN  jyOR. 


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equalled  by  the  alroci  ies  they  are  willing  to  perpetrate 
upon  all  who  stand  in  the  way  of  I  heir  desires  or  their 
ambition. 

To  Beatrice  Spara,  th  -.  secret  of  this  subtle  prepara- 
tion had  come  down  like  an  evil  inheritance  from  the  an- 
cient Candidas  and  Sa<^anas  of  imperial  Rome.  In  the 
proud  palaces  of  the  Borgias,  of  the  Orsinis,  the  Scaligers, 
the  Borromeos,  the  art  of  poisoning  was  preserved  among 
the  last  resorts  of  Machiavellian  statecraft ;  and  not  only  in 
palaces  but  in  by  streets  of  Italian  cities  ;  in  solitary  towers 
and  dark  recesses  of  the  Appenines  were  still  to  be  found 
the  lost  children  of  science,  skilful  compounders  of  poisofis, 
at  once  fatal  and  subtle  in  their  operation — poisons  which 
left  not  the  least  trace  of  their  presence  in  the  bodies  of 
their  victims,  but  put  on  the  appearance  of  other  and  more 
natural  causes  of  death. 

Exili,  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  Beatrice  Spara,  to 
whom  he  had  proved  a  faithless  lover,  fled  from  Naples 
and  brought  his  deadly  knowledge  to  Paris,  where  he  soon 
found  congenial  spirits  to  work  with  him  in  preparing  the 
deadly  poudre  dc  succession^  and  the  colorless  drops  of  the 
Aqua  Tofana. 

With  all  his  crafty  caution,  Exili  fell  at  last  under  sus- 
picion of  the  police,  for  tampering  in  these  forbidden  arts. 
He  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  the  Bastile,  where  he  be 
came  the  occupant  of  the  same  cell  with  Gaudin  de  St. 
Croix,  a  young  nobleman  of  the  Court,  the  lover  of  the 
Marchioness  de  BrinviD'ers,  for  an  intrigue  with  whom  the 
Count  had  been  imprisoned.  St.  Croix  learned  from  Exili, 
in  the  Bastile,  the  secret  of  the  poudre  de  succession. 

The  two  men  were  at  last  liberated  for  want  of  proof  of 
•-he  charges  against  them.  St.  Croix  set  up  a  laboratory 
in  his  own  house,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  experiment 
upon  the  terrible  secrets  learned  from  Exili,  and  which  he 
revealed  to  his  fair,  frail  mistress,  who,  mad  to  make  her- 
self his  wife,  saw  in  these  a  means  to  remove  every  obstacle 
out  of  the  way.  She  poisoned  her  husband,  her  father  her 
brother,  and  at  last,  carried  away  by  a  mania  for  murder, 
administered  on  all  sides  \X\^i2i\.-ii\.  poudre  de  succession  which, 
brought  death  to  House,  Palace  and  Hospital,  and  filled 
the  capital,  nay  the  vhole  kingdom  with  suspicion  and  ter- 
ror. 
,..  Tbi.  fatal  poison  history  describes  as  either  a  light  and 


*'CALL/XG  A  KAVEAOU6  DJKD,     ETC. 


361 


almost  impalpable  powder,  tasteless,  colorless  and  inodor* 
ous,  or  a  liquid  clear  as  a  dew  drop,  when  in  the  form  of 
the  Aijiia  2  of  ana.  It  was  capable  of  causing  death  either 
instantaneously  or  by  slow  and  lingering  decline  at  the  end 
of  a  definite  number  of  days,  weeks,  or  even  months,  as 
WIS  desired.  Death  was  not  less  sure  because  deferred,  and 
it  could  be  made  to  assume  the  appearance  of  dumb  paraly- 
sis, wasting  atrophy,  or  burning  fever  at  the  discretion  of 
the  compounder  of  the  fatal  poison. 

The  ordinary  effect  of  tlie  A(/ua  Ti/ana  was  immediate 
death.  The  poudrc  dc  succession  was  more  slow  in  killing. 
It  produced  in  its  pure  form  a  burning  heat,  like  that  of  a 
fiery  furnace  in  the  chest,  the  liames  of  which,  as  they  con- 
sumed the  patient,  darted  out  of  his  eyes,  the  only  part  of 
the  body  which  seemed  to  be  alive,  while  the  rest  was  little 
more  than  a  dead  corpse. 

Upon  the  introduction  of  this  terrible  poison  into 
France,  Death,  like  an  invisible  spirit  of  evil,  glided  silently 
about  the  kingdom,  creeping  into  the  closest  family  circles, 
seizing  everywhere  on  its  helpless  victims.  The  nearest 
and  dearest  relationships  of  life  were  no  longer  the  safe- 
guardians  of  the  domestic  hearth.  The  man  who  to-day 
appeared  in  the  glow  of  health,  drooped  to-morrow  and 
died  the  next  day.  No  skill  of  the  physician  was  able  to 
save  him,  or  to  detect  the  true  cause  of  his  death,  attribut- 
ing it  usually  to  the  false  appearances  of  disease  which  it 
was  made  to  assume. 

The  victims  of  \.\\q. poudre  de  succession  were  counted  by 
thousands.  The  possession  of  wealth,  a  lucrative  otlice,  a 
fair  young  wife,  or  a  coveted  husband,  were  sufficient  rea- 
sons for  sudden  death  to  cut  off  the  holder  of  these  envied 
blessings.  A  terrible  mistrust  pervaded  all  classes  of  so- 
ciety. The  husband  trembled  before  his  wife,  the  wife  be- 
fore her  husband,  father  and  son,  brother  and  sister,  kind- 
red and  friends  of  ail  degrees,  looked  askance,  and  with 
suspicious  eyes  upon  one  another. 

In  Pa  :*s  the  terror  lasted  long.  Society  was  for  a 
while  broken  up  by  cruel  suspicions.  The  meai  upon  the 
table  remained  uneaten,  the  wine  undrank,  men  and  women 
procured  their  own  provisions  in  the  market,  and  cooked 
and  ate  them  in  their  own  apartments.  Yet  was  every  pre- 
caution in  vain.  The  fatal  dust  s«^attered  upon  the  pillow, 
or  a  bouquet   sprinkled   with  the  Aqua    Tofana  looking 


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THt.  CHIFN  DOR. 


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bright  and  innocent  as  God's  lew  upon  the  flowers,  trans 
mitted  death  without  a  warning  of  danger.  Nay,  to  crown 
all  summit  of  wickedness,  the  bread  in  the  hospitals  of  the 
sick,  the  meagre  tables  of  the  Convent,  the  consecrated 
host,  administered  by  the  priest,  and  the  sacramental  wine 
which  he  drank  iiimself,  all  in  turn  were  poisoned,  polluted, 
damned,  by  the  unseen  presence  of  the  manna  of  St.  Nich- 
olas, as  the  populace  mockingly  called  the  poudre  de  suC' 
cession. 

The  Court  took  the  alarm,  when  a  gilded  vial  of  the 

Aqua  7b/ana  was  found  one  day  upon  the  table  of  the  Du- 

chesse  de  la  Valibre,  having  been  placed  thereby  the  hand 

-f  some  secret  rival,  in  order  to  cast  suspicion  upon  the 

unhappy  Louise,  and  hasten  her  fall  already  approaching. 

The  star  of  Montespan  was  rising  bright  in  the  East 
and  that  of  La  Valibre  was  setting  in  clouds  and  darkness 
in  the  West.  But  the  king  never  distrusted  for  a  moment 
the  truth  of  La  Valibre,  the  only  woman  who  ever  loved 
'  m  for  his  own  sake,  and  he  knew  it  even  while  he  allowed 
her  to  be  supplanted  by  another  infinitely  less  worthy — one 
whose  hour  of  triumph  came  when  she  saw  the  broken- 
hearted Louise  throw  aside  the  velvet  and  brocade  of  the 
Court  and  put  on  the  sackcloth  of  the  barefooted  and  re- 
pentant Carmelite. 

The  king  burned  with  indignation  at  the  insult  offered 
to  his  mistress,  and  was  still  more  alarmed  to  find  the  new 
mysterious  death  creej^ing  into  the  corridors  of  his  palace. 
He  hastily  constituted  the  terrible  Chambre  Ardenie,  a  court 
of  supreme  criminal  jurisdiction,  and  commissioned  it  to 
search  out,  try  and  burn  without  appeal,  all  poisoners  and 
secret  .issassins  in  the  kingdom. 

La  Regnie,  a  man  of  Rhadamanthean  justice,  as  hard 
of  heart  as  he  was  subtle  and  suspicious,  was  long  baffled, 
and  to  his  unutterable  rage,  set  it  naught  by  the  indefati- 
gable poisoners  who  kept  all  France  awake  on  its  pillows. 

History  records  how  Gaudin  de  St.  Croix,  the  disciple 
ci  Exili,  while  working  in  his  secret  laboratory  at  the  sub- 
limation of  the  deadly  poison,  accidentally  dropped  the 
mask  of  glass  which  protected  his  face.  He  inhaled  the 
noxious  fumes  and  fell  dead  by  the  side  of  his  crucibles. 
This  event  gave  Desgrais,  captain  of  the  police  of  Paris,  a 
clue  to  the  horror',  which  had  s  >  long  baffled  his  pursuit. 

The  correspondence  of  St.  Croix  was  seized.     His  con 


•CALimG  A  RA  ^EmCS  l,t.<D:'  ETC. 


363 


nection  with  the  Marchioness  de  Hrinvillicrs,  and  his  rel^ 
lions  with  Exili  were  discovered.  Kxili  was  thrown  a 
second  time  into  the  Basfile.  The  Marchioness  was  ar- 
rested and  put  upon  her  trial  before  the  Chamlre  Ardente^ 
where,  us  recorded  in  the  narrative  of  her  confessor,  Pirol, 
her  ravishing  beauty  of  feature,  bkie  eyes,  snow-white  skin, 
and  gentle  demeanor  won  a  slrons;  sympathy  from  the 
fickle  populace  of  Paris,  in  whose  eyes  her  ciiarms  of  per- 
son and  manner  pleaded  hard  to  extenuate  her  unparalleled 
crimes. 

But  no  power  of  beauty  or  fascination  of  look  could 
move  the  stern  Le  Regnie  from  his  judgment.  She  was 
pronounced  guilty  of  the  death  of  her  husband  and  sen- 
tenced first  to  be  tortured,  and  then  beheaded  and  her 
body  burnt  on  the  Place  de  Greve,  a  sentence  wiiich  was 
carried  out  to  the  letter.  The  ashes  of  the  fairest  and 
most  wicked  dame  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  were  scat- 
tered to  the  four  corners  of  the  city  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  her  unparalleled  crimes.  The  arch  poisoner  Exili 
was  also  tried  and  condemned  to  be  burnt.  The  tumbril  that 
bore  him  to  execution  was  stopped  on  its  way  by  the  fu- 
rious rabble  and  he  was  torn  in  pieces  by  them. 

For  a  short  time  the  kingdom  breathed  freely  in  fancied 
security ;  but  soon  the  epidemic  of  sudden  as  well  as  linger- 
ing deaths  from  poison,  broke  out  again  on  all  sides.  The 
fatal  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  evil,  seemingly  cut  down 
with  Exili  and  St.  Croix,  had  sprouted  afresh,  like  a  Upas 
that  could  not  be  destroyed. 

The  poisoners  became  more  numerous  than  ever.  Fol- 
lowing the  track  of  St.  Croix  and  La  Brinvillicrs  they 
carried  on  the  war  against  humanity  without  relaxation. 
Chief  of  these  was  a  reported  witch  and  fortuneteller 
named  La  Voisin,  who  had  studied  the  infernal  secret 
under  Exili  and  borne  a  daughter  to  the  false   Italian. 

With  La  Voisin  were  associated  two  priests,  Le  Sage 
and  Le  Vigoureux,  who  lived  with  her,  and  assisted  her  m 
her  necromantic  exhibitions  which  were  visited,  believed  in, 
and  richly  rewarded  by  some  of  the  foremost  people  of  the 
court.  These  necromantic  exhibitions  were  in  reality  a 
cover  lo  darker  crim(  3. 

It  was  long  the  popular  belief  in  France,  that  Cardinal 
Bonzy  got  from  La  Voisin  the  means  of  ridding  himself  ol 
sundry  persons  who  stood  in  the  way  of  his  ecclesiastical 


'■^.i^. 


304 


THE  CIIIEX  D'OK. 


I  r  I     i 


preferment  or  to  whom  he  had  to  pay  pensions  in  hfl 
quality  of  Archbishop  of  Narbonne.  The  Duchesse  de 
Bouillon  and  the  Countess  of  Soissons,  mother  of  the 
famous  Prince  Eugene,  were  also  accused  of  trafficking 
with  that  ter  'ble  woman,  and  were  banished  from  the 
kingdom  in  consequence,  while  a  royal  Duke,  Fran9ois  de 
Montmorency  was  also  susp«.cted  of  dealings  with  La 
Voisin. 

The  Chambre  Anlente  struck  right  and  left.  Desgrais, 
chief  of  the  police,  by  a  crafty  ruse,  penetrated  into  the  se- 
cret circle  of  La  Voisin,  and  she,  with  a  crowd  of  associates, 
perished  in  the  fires  of  the  Place  de  Greve.  She  left  an 
illstarred  daughter,  Marie  Exili,  to  the  blank  charity  of  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  the  possession  of  many  of  the  frightful 
secrets  of  her  mother  and  of  her  terrible  father. 

Marie  Exili  clung  to  Paris.  She  grew  up  beautiful  and 
profligate,  she  coined  her  rare  Italian  charms,  first  into 
gold  and  velvet,  then  into  silver  and  brocade,  and  at  last 
into  copper  and  rags.  When  her  charms  faded  entirely, 
she  began  to  practise  the  forbidden  arts  of  her  mother  and 
father  but  without  their  boldness,  or  long  impunity. 

She  was  soon  suspected,  but  receiving  timely  '/arning 
of  her  danger,  from  a  high  patroness  at  Court,  Marie  ?i<ii\ 
to  New  France  in  the  disguise  of  ^.paysanne,  one  of  a  cargo 
of  unmarried  women  sent  out  to  the  colony,  on  matrimonial 
venture,  as  the  custom  then  was,  to  furnish  wives  for  the 
colonists.  Her  sole  possession  was  an  antique  cabinet 
with  its  contents,  the  only  remnant  saved  from  the  fortune 
of  her  father  Exili. 

Marie  Exili  landed  in  New  France,  cursing  the  old 
world  which  she  had  left  behind,  and  bringing  as  bitter  a 
hatred  of  the  new,  which  received  her  without  a  shadow  of 
suspicion,  thjit  under  her  modest  peasant's  garb  was 
concealed  the  daughter  and  inheretrix  of  the  black  arts 
of  Antonio  Exili  and  of  the  sorceress  La  Voisin. 

Marie  Exili  kept  her  secret  well.  She  played  the 
Ingenue  to  perfection.  Her  straight  fij*;ure  and  black  eyes 
having  drawn  a  second  glance  from  the  Sieur  Corriveau,  a 
rich  habitant  of  St.  Valier,  who  was  looking  for  a  servant 
among  the  crowd  of  paysanncs  who  had  just  arrived  from 
France,  he  could  not  escape  from  the  power  of  their  fas- 
cination. 

He  took  Marie  Exili  home  with  him,  and  installed  hei 


i^tlHI 


"CALU.VG  A  KAl'/iAOUS  B/KD,"  ETC. 


36s 


in  his  household,  where  liis  wife  s<»on  died  of  some  inex- 
plicable disease  which  biiflflcd  li)e  knowledge  of  both  the 
doctor  and  the  curate,  the  two  wisest  men  in  the  parish. 
The  Sieur  Corriveflu  ended  his  widowhood  by  marrying 
Marie  Exili,  and  soon  died  hiinself.  leaving  his  whole  for 
tune  and  one  daughter,  the  image  of  her  mother,  to  Marie. 

Marie  P^xi'"  ever  in  dreif'  of  the  perquisitions  of  Des- 
giais,  kept  very  quiet  in  licr  secluded  liome  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  guarding  her  secret  with  a  life-long  apprehen* 
sion  and  but  occasionally  and  in  the  darkest  ways  prac- 
tising her  deadly  skill.  She  found  some  compensation  and 
relief  for  her  suppressed  passions  in  the  cliiiging  sympathy 
of  her  daughter,  Marie  Jose  plite  dit  La  Corriveau,  who 
worshipped  ail  that  was  evil  in  her  mother  and  in  spite  of 
an  occasional  reluctance  cpringmg  from  some  maternal 
instinct,  drew  from  her  eN  ?ry  secret  of  her  life.  She  made 
h.  .'seJt  mistress  of  the  whole  formula  of  poisoning  as  taught 
by  her  grandfather,  l^xili,  and  of  the  arts  of  sorcery  prac- 
tised by  her  wicked  grandmother,  La  Voisin. 

As  La  Corriveau  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  burning  of 
her  grandmother  on  the  Place  de  Greve,  her  own  soul 
seemed  bathed  in  the  flames  which  rose  from  the  faggots 
and  which  to  her  perverted  reason  appeared  as  the  fires  of 
cruel  injustice,  calling  for  revenge  upon  the  whole  race  of 
the  oppressors  of  her  family  as  she  regarded  the  punishers 
of  their  crimes. 

With  such  a  parentage  and  such  dark  secrets  brooding 
in  her  bosom,  Marie  Joseplrle,  or,  as  she  was  commonly 
called,  La  Corriveau,  had  -"othing  in  common  with  the 
simple  peasantry  among  whom  she  lived.  <      si 

Years  passed  over  her,  youth  tied  and  La  Corriveau 
still  sat  in  her  house,  eating  her  heart  out,  silent  and  soli- 
taiy.  After  the  death  of  her  mother,  some  whispers  of 
hidden  treasures  known  onl/  lo  herself,  a  rumor  which  she 
had  cunningly  set  afloat,  excited  the  cupidity  of  Louis 
Dodier,  a  simple  habitant  of  St.  Valier,  and  drew  him  into 
a  marriage  with  her,  ,,f:.l 

It  was  a  barren  union.  No  child  followed  with  Gcd's 
grace  in  its  little  hands  to  create  a  mother's  feelings  and 
soften  the  callous  heart  of  La  Corriveau.  She  cursed  her 
lot  that  it  was  so,  and  her  dry  )osom  became  an  arid  spot 
of  desert,  tenanted  by  satyrs  and  dragons,  by  every  evil 
passion  oiE  a  woman  withoat  conscience  and  void  of  love. 


366 


THE  CHIEN  D'OH. 


4M 


i 


v.y 


Bui  La  Corrive;iu  had  inlierited  the  sharp  intellect  and 
Italian  dissimulation  of  Antoiuo  Exili,  she  was  astute 
enough  to  throw  a  veil  of  hypocrisy  over  the  evil  eye  which 
ihot  like  a  giancr  of  death  from  u?i«ler  her  thick  black 
eyebrows. 

Her  craft  was  equal  to  her  malice.  An  occ  .  'onal  deed 
of  alms,  done  not  for  charity's  sake,  but  for  osfci.'Ution  ;  an 
adroit  deal  of  cards,  or  a  horoscope  cast  to  flatter  a  foolish 
girl ;  a  word  of  sympathy,  hollow  as  a  water  bubble  but 
colored  with  iridescent  prettiness,  averted  suspicion  from 
the  darker  traits  of  her  character. 

If  she  was  hated,  she  was  also  feared  by  her  neighbors, 
and  although  the  sign  of  the  cross  was  made  upon  the 
chair  whereon  .ihe  had  sat  in  a  neighbor's  house,  her  visits 
were  not  unwelcome,  and  in  the  Manor  house,  as  in  the 
cabin  of  the  woodman,  La  Corrivenu  was  received,  consult- 
ed, rewarded,  and  oftener  thanked  than  cursed  by  her 
witless  dupes. 

There  was  something  sublime  in  the  satanic  pride  with 
which  she  carried  with  her  the  terrible  secrets  of  her  race, 
which  in  her  own  mind  made  her  the  superior  of  every  one 
around  her,  and  whom  she  regarded  as  living  only  by  her 
permission  or  forbearance. 

For  hnrr'nin  i  )ve  other  than  as  a  degraded  menial,  to 
make  mcp  ihe  slaves  of  her  mercenary  schemes.  La  Cor- 
riveau  caied  noihing.  She  never  felt  it,  never  inspired  it. 
She  looked  du.vn  upon  all  her  sex  as  the  filth  of  creation, 
and  like  herself  incapable  of  a  chaste  feeling  or  a  pure 
thought.  Every  better  instinct  of  her  nature  had  gone  out 
like  the  flame  of  a  lamp  whose  oil  is  exhausted.  Love  of 
money  remained  as  dregs,  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  A 
deep  grudge  against  mankind  with  a  secret  pleasure  in  the 
misfortunes  of  others,  especially  of  her  own  sex,  were  her 
ruling  passions. 

Her  mother,  Marie  Exili,  had  died  in  her  bed,  warning 
her  daughter  not  to  dabble  n  the  forbidden  arts  which  she 
haa  taught  her,  but  to  cling  to  her  husband  and  live  an 
honest  life  as  the  only  means  of  dying  a  more  hopeful 
death  than  her  ancestors. 

La  Corriveau  heard  much,  but  heeded  little.  The  blood 
of  Antonio  Exili  and  ot  La  Voisin  beat  too  vigorously  in 
her  veins  to  be  tamed  down  by  the  feeble  whispers  of  a 
dying  woman  who  had  been  weak  enough  to  give  way  at 


"CAI.LIKG  A  KAyp.XOVa  BIKD,"  ETC. 


3«7 


last  The  death  of  hor  mother  left  La  Corrivcau  free  tc 
follow  her  own  will.  The  Italian  subtlety  of  her  race  inadu 
her  secret  and  cautious.  She  had  few  per«fonal  affronts  to 
avenge,  and  few  te'^nptations  in  the  s-mple  community 
where  sh(  lived  to  practise  more  than  the  ordinary  arts  of 
a  rural  fortune-teller,  keeping  in  impenetrable  shadow  the 
darker  side  of  her  character  as  a  born  sorceress  and 
poisoner. 

Such  was  the  woman  whom  Ang^lique  des  Meloises 
summoned  to  her  aid  in  what  she  thou^lit  was  the  crisis  of 
her  life.  A  crisis  which  she  'la  at  length  persuaded  her- 
self, justified  the  only  meat  l<  "t  to  get  rid  of  her  rival  for 
the  hand  of  the  Intendant 

Her  conscience,  which  have  protected  her, 

had  shivered  under  the  bio  passion  like  a  shield 

of  glass  ;  but  fragments  of  it  sull  ounded  her.  She  was 
not  without  some  natural  compunctions ;  for  though  habitu- 
ated to  think  of  sin,  she  had  not  yet  been  touched  by 
crime,  and  she  strove  earnestly  to  blind  herself  to  the  enor- 
mity of  what  she  had  resolved — and  had  recourse  to  some 
sad  casuistry  to  persuade  herself  that  she  would  be  less 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder  if  she  did  it  by  the  hand  of 
another.  Moreover,  she  called  on  God  to  witness  that  she 
did  not  mean  to  be  a  persistent  sinner,  far  from  it.  She 
would  commit  but  one  crime,  only  one  !  just  one  simple 
breach  of  human  and  divine  law.  Take  the  life  of  a  rival, 
but  that  done,  her  end  attained,  she  would  live  the  life  of 
a  saint  ever  after,  free  from  all  further  temptation !  for  she 
would  be  beatified  by  a  marriage  with  the  Intendant  of 
New  France ;  take  precedence  of  all  the  ladies  of  the 
colony  ;  and  at  last  be  translated  to  that  heaven  of  hope 
and  delight,  the  Court  of  Versailles,  leaving  far  behind  her 
Beaumanoir  and  all  its  dark  memories — what  more  would 
she  have  to  desire  in  this  world  ? 

The  juggling  fiend  plays  with  us  ever  thus  !  When  we 
palter  with  conscience,  a  single  fault  seems  not  much.  One 
step  beyond  the  allowable  mark  does  not  look  to  be  far. 
It  will  be  quite  a  merit  to  stop  there^  and  go  no  farther ! 
Providence  must  be  on  our  side  and  reward  our  abstinence 
trom  further  wickedness  I 

Fanchon  Dodier,  in  obedience  to  the  order  of  her  mis- 
tress, started  early  in  the  day,  to  bear  the  message  intrusted 
to  her  for  La  Corriveau.     She  did  not  cross  the  river  and 


7  '  ■  •..    ,*?' 


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Photographic 

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Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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r^^  C/ffJSj^  D'OR. 


take  the  king's  highway,  the  rough  though  well  travelled 
road  on  the  south  shore  which  led  to  St.  Valier.  Ang^< 
lique  was  crafty  enough  amid  her  impulsiveness  to  see 
that  it  were  better  for  Fanchon  to  go  down  by  water  and 
return  by  land.  It  lessened  observation,  and  might  be  im- 
portant one  day  to  baffle  inquiry.  La  Corriveau  would 
serve  her  for  money,  but  for  money  also  she  might  betray 
her,  Angdiique  resolved  to  secure  her  silence  by  making 
her  the  perpetrator  of  whatever  scheme  of  wickedness  she 
might  devise  against  the  unsuspecting  Lady  of  Beaumanoir. 
As  for  Fanchon,  she  need  know  nothing  more  than  Ang^- 
lique  told  her  as  to  the  object  of  her  mission  to  her  terrible 
aunt. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  Angdlique  had  already  sent 
for  a  couple  of  Indian  canoemen  to  embark  Fanchon  at 
the  quay  of  the  Friponne  and  convey  her  to  St.  Valier. 

Half-civilized  and  wholly  demoralized  red  men  were 
always  to  be  found  on  the  beach  of  Stadacona  as  they  still 
called  the  Batture  of  the  St.  Charles,  lounging  about  in 
blankets,  smoking,  playing  dice,  or  drinking  pints  or  quarts 
— as  fortune  favored  them  or  a  passenger  wanted  convey- 
ance in  their  bark  canoes,  which  they  managed  with  a  dex- 
terity unsurpassed  by  any  boatmen  that  ever  put  oar  or 
paddle  in  water,  salt  or  fresh.  j  o/  'M-'?m  ir  «j  J  r- 

These  rough  fellows  were  safe  and  trusty  in  their  pro- 
fession. Fanchon  knew  them  slightly,  aftd  felt  no  fear 
whatever  in  seating  herself  upon  the  bear  skin  which  car- 
peted the  bottom  of  their  canoe. 

They  pushed  off  at  once  from  the  shore,  with  scarcely 
a  word  of  reply  to  her  voluble  directions  and  gesticula- 
tions as  they  went  speeding  their  canoe  down  the  stream. 
The  turning  tide  bore  them  lightly  on  its  bosom,  and  they 
chanted  a  wild,  monotonous  refrain  as  their  paddles  flashed 
and  dipped  alternately  in  stream  and  sunshine : 


;^0 


A\i\ 


(\i 


**  Ah  I  ah  !  Tenaouich  tenaga  ! 
Tenaouich  tenaga,  oui  :h  ka  I " 


'•>-♦ 


"They  are  singing  about  me,  no  doubt,"  said  Fanchon 
to  herself.  "  I  do  not  care  what  people  say,  they  can 
not  be  Christians  who  speak  such  a  heathenish  jargon  ai 
that.  It  is  enough  to  sink  the  canoe  ;  but  I  will  repeat  my 
pater  nosters  and  my  Ave  Marias,  seeing  they  will  not  con- 
verse with  me,  and  I  will  pray  good  St.  Anne  to  give  me 


"CALLING  A  RAVBtfOUS  BIRD,"  ETC. 


3<9 


a  safe  passage  to  St.  Valier."  In  which  pious  occupation 
•4S  the  boatmen  continued  their  savage  song  without  payine 
her  any  attention,  Fanchon,  with  many  interruptions  <m 
worldly  thoughts,  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  she  was  in  the 
Indian  canoe. 

•Down  past  the  green  hills  of  the  south  shore  the  boat- 
men steadily  plied  their  paddles,  and  kept  singing  their 
wild  Indian  chant.  The  wooded  slopes  of  Orleans  basked 
in  sunshine  as  they  overlooked  the  broad  channel,  through 
which  the  canoe  sped,  and  long  before  meridian  the  little 
bark  was  turned  in  to  shore  and  pulled  up  on  the  beach  of 
St.  Valier. 

Fanchon  leaped  out  without  assistance,  wetting  a  foof 
in  so  doing,  which  somewhat  discomposed  the  good-humor 
she  had  shown  during  the  voyage.  Her  Indian  boatmen 
offered  her  no  help,  considering  that  women  were  made  to 
serve  men  and  help  themselves,  and  not  to  be  waited  upon 
by  them.        n;.,-?,,,  :%  v.-~.  .\.\\:\mx  •^^xm^im' 

The  gallantry  of  Frenchmen  to  the  sex  was  a  thing  un- 
intelligible and  absurd  in  the  eyes  of  the  red  men,  who, 
whatever  shreds  of  European  ideas  hung  loosely  about 
them,  never  changed  their  original  opinions  about  women  ; 
and  hence  were  incapable  of  real  civilization. 

"  Not  that  I  wanted  to  touch  one  of  their  savage  hands," 
muttered  Fanchon,  "  but  they  might  have  offered  one  as- 
sistance !  Look  there,"  continued  she,  pulling  aside  her 
skirt  and  showing  a  very  trim  foot  wet  up  to  the  ankle,  "  they 
ought  to  know  the  difference  between  their  red  squaws  and 
white  girls  of  the  city.  If  they  are  not  worth  politeness, 
we  are.  But  Indians  are  only  fit  to  kill  Christians  or  be 
killed  by  them  ;  and  you  might  as  well  curtesy  to  a  bear  in 
the  briars,  as  to  an  Indian  anywhere." 

The  boatmen  looked  at  her  foot  with  supreme  indiffer- 
ence, and  taking  out  their  pipes  seated  themselves  on  the 
edge  of  their  canoe  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  You  may  return  to  the  city,"  said  she,  addressing 
them  sharply,  "  I  pray  to  the  bon  Dieu  to  strike  you  white 
— it  is  vain  to  look  for  manners  from  an  Indian!  I  shall 
remain  in  St.  Valier  and  not  return  with  you." 

"  Marry  me,  be  ray  squaw,  Ania }  "  replied  one  of  the 
boatmen  with  a  grim  smile,  "  the  bon  Dieu  will  strike  oul 
papooses  white  and  teach  them  manners  like  pale-faces." 

"  Ugh !  not  for  all  the  king's  money.     What !  marry  a 


f^o 


THE  CHIBN  lyOR, 


y^G 

9 


m 


red  Indian  and  carry  his  pack  like  Fifine  Perotte  ?  I  would 
die  Brst !  You  are  bold  indeed,  Paul  La  Crosse,  to  name 
such  a  thing  to  me.  Go  back  to  the  city  1  I  would  liot 
trust  myself  again  in  your  "anoe.  It  required  courage  to 
do  so  at  all,  but  mademoiselle  selected  you  for  my  boatmen 
not  I.  I  wonder  she  did  so,  when  the  brothers  Belleau 
and  the  prettiest  fellows  in  town,  were  idle  on  the  batture.* 

"  Ania  is  niece  to  the  old  medicine  woman  in  the  stone 
wigwam  at  St.  Valier  ;  going  to  see  her,  eh  ?  "  asked  the 
other  boatman  with  a  slight  display  of  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  visit  my  aunt  Dodier,  why  should 
I  not  ?  She  has  crocks  of  gold  buried  in  the  house,  I  can 
tell  you  that,  Pierre  Ceinture  ! "        '  i' 

"  Going  to  get  some  from  La  Corriveau,  eh  ?  crocks  of 
gold,  eh  "i "  said  Paul  La  Crosse. 

"  La  Corriveau  has  medicines  too !  get  some,  eh  ? "  asked 
Pierre  Ceinture. 

"  I  am  going  neither  for  gold  nor  medicines,  but  to  see 
my  aunt,  if  it  concerns  you  to  know,  Pierre  Ceinture  I 
which  it  does  not  I "  ^       ' 

"  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  pay  her  to  go,  eh  ?  not 
going  back  ever,  eh  ? "  asked  the  other  Indian. 

"  Mind  your  own  affairs,  Paul  La  Crosse,  and  I  will 
mind  mine !  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  paid  you  to  bring 
me  to  St.  Valier,  not  to  ask  me  impertinences.  That  is 
enough  for  you !  Here  is  your  fare,  now  you  can  return  to 
the  Sault  au  Matelot  and  c'  k  yourselves  blind  with  the 
money !  " 

"Very  good  that!"  replied  the  Indian.  "I  like  to 
drink  myself  blind,  will  do  it  to-night !  Like  to  see  me, 
eh?  Better  that,  than  go  see  La  Corriveau!  The  habi- 
tans  say  she  talks  with  the  Devil,  and  makes  the  sickness 
settle  like  a  fog  upon  the  wigwams  of  the  red  men.  They 
say  she  can  make  pale  faces  die,  by  looking  at  them  !  But 
Indians  are  too  hard  to  kill  with  a  look  !  Firewater  and 
gun  and  tomahawk,  and  fever  in  the  wigwams,  only  make 
the  Indians  die." 

"Good  that  something  can  make  you  die,  for  your 
ill  manners  !  look  at  my  stocking !  "  replied  Fanchon  with 
warmth.  "  If  I  tell  La  Corriveau  what  you  say  of  her, 
there  will  be  trouble  in  your  wigwam,  Pierre  Ceinture !  " 

"  Do  not  do  that,  Ania!  "  replied  the  Indian  crossing 
lumself  earnestly,  "  do  not  tell  La  Corriveau  or  she  will 


**CALUM7  A  RAi'RNOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


37» 


not 


•nake  an  image  of  wax  and  call  it  Pierre  Ceinture,  and  she 
will  melt  it  away  before  a  slow  fire,  and  as  it  i  lelts  my 
flesh  and  bones  will  melt  away  too !  Do  not  tell  her,  Fan- 
chon  Dodier !  "  The  Indian  had  picked  up  this  piece  of 
superstition  from  the  white  habitans^  and  like  thera  thor- 
oughly believed  in  the  supernatural  powers  of  La  Corriveau. 
"  Well,  leave  me  !  get  back  to  the  city,  and  tell  Made- 
moiselle, I  arrived  safe  at  St.  Valier,"  replied  Fanchon,  \ 
turning  to  leave  them. 

The  Indians  were  somewhat  taken  down  by  the  airs  of 
Fanchon,  and  they  stood  in  awe  of  the  far-reaching  power 
of  her  aunt,  from  the  power  of  whose  witchcraft  they  firmly 
believed  no  hiding-place,  even  in  the  deepest  woods,  could 
protect  them.  Merely  nodding  a  farewell  to  Fanchon,  the 
Indians  silently  pushed  their  canoe  into  the  stream,  and 
embarking  returned  to  the  city  by  the  way  they  came, 

A  fine  breezy  upland  lay  before  Fanchon  Dodier.  Cul- 
tivated fields  of  corn  and  meadows  ran  down  to  the  shore. 
A  row  of  white  cottages  forming  a  loosely  connected  street 
clustered  into  something  like  a  village  at  the  point  where 
the  Parish  church  stood,  at  the  intersection  of  two  or 
three  roads,  one  of  which,  a  narrow  green  track,  but  little 
worn  by  the  carts  of  the  habitans^  led  to  the  stone  house 
of  La  Corriveau,  the  chimney  of  which  was  just  visible  as 
you  lost  sight  of  the  village  spire.  The  road  dipped  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and,  in  the  far  distance  be- 
yond, rose  narrowed  to  a  thread  upon  another  hill,  and 
ran  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  which  formed  the  back- 
ground of  the  landscape. 

In  a  deep  hollow,  out  of  sight  of  the  village  church, 
almost  out  of  hearing  of  its  little  bell,  stood  the  house  of 
La  Corriveau,  a  square  heavy  structure  of  stone,  inconve- 
nient and  gloomy,  with  narrow  windows  and  an  uninviting 
door.  The  pine  forest  touched  it  on  one  side,  a  brawling 
stream  twisted  itself  like  a  live  snake  half  round  it  on  the 
other.  A  plot  of  green  grass  ill  kept  and  deformed,  with 
noxious  weeds,  dock,  fennel,  thistle  and  foul  stramonium, 
was  surrounded  by  a  rough  wall  of  loose  stones  forming 
the  lawn,  such  as  it  was,  where,  under  a  tree  seated  in  an 
armchair,  was  a  solitary  woman,  whom  Fanchon  recognized 
as  her  aunt,  Marie  Josephte  Dodier,  surnaAied  La  Cor- 
riveau. 

La  Corriveau  in  feature  and  j^^erson  took  after  het 


37» 


THE  C  U/EiV  D'OX. 


\ 


grandsire  Exili.  She  was  tall  and  straight,  of  a  swarthy 
complexion,  black  haired  and  intensely  black  eyed.  She  wai 
not  uncomely  of  feature,  nay  had  been  handsome,  nor  was 
her  look  at  first  sight  forbidding,  especially  if  she  did 
not  turn  upon  you  those  small  basilisk  eyes  of  hers,  full  of 
fire  and  glare  as  the  eyes  of  a  rattlesnake.  But  tiuly  those 
thin  cruel  lips  of  hers  never  smiled  spontaneously  or  affect- 
ed to  smile  upon  you,  unless  she  had  an  object  to  gain, 
by  assuming  a  disguise  as  foreign  to  her  as  light  to  an 
angel  of  darkness.       ^  a  «  *  .  v.  <  . ,   ^  '^a  ^ 

La  Corriveau  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  soft  brown  stuff, 
shaped  with  a  degree  of  taste  and  style  beyond  the  garb  of 
her  class.  Neatness  in  dress  was  the  one  virtue  she  had 
inherited  from  her  mother.  Her  feet  were  small  and  well 
shod,  like  a  lady's,  as  the  envious  neighbors  used  to  say. 
She  never  in  her  life  would  wear  the  sabots  of  the  peasant 
women,  nor  go  barefoot,  as  many  of  them  did  about  the 
house.  La  Corriveau  was  vain  of  her  feet  which  would 
have  made  her  fortune,  as  she  thought  with  bitterness,  any 
where  but  in  St.  Valier. 

She  sat  musing  in  her  chair,  not  noticing  the  presence 
of  her  niece,  who  stood  for  a  moment  looking  and  hesi- 
tating before  accosting  her.  Her  countenance  bore  when 
she  was  alone,  an  expression  of  malignity  which  made  Fan- 
chon  shudder.  A  quick,  unconscious  twitching  of  the  fingers 
accompanied  her  thoughts,  as  if  this  weird  woman  was 
playing  a  game  of  mora  with  the  evil  genius  that  waited  on 
her.  Her  grandsire  Exili  had  the  same  nervous  twitch- 
ing of  his  fingers,  and  the  vulgar  accused  him  of  playing 
at  mora  with  the  Devil,  who  ever  accompanied  him,  they 
believed.  r-\  ^'m  ,^';. .,  rju.  in  :*■;'! 

The  lips  of  La  Corriveau  moved  in  unison  with  her 
thoughts.  She  was  giving  expression  to  her  habitual  con- 
tempt for  her  sex  as  she  crooned  over  in  a  sufficiently 
audible  voice  to  reach  the  ear  of  Fanchon,  a  hateful  song 
of  Jean  Le  Meung — on  women  : —       .-.   •    tO:':!  ^>     .> 


"  Toutes  vous  6tes,  %rez  ou  futes, 
De  fait  ou  de  volont^  putes  I 


V»'/t 


;;  t;- 


/*?^ 


"It  is  not  nice  to  say  that,  aunt  Marie!"  exclaimed 
Fanchon,  commg  forward  and  embracing  La  Corriveau, 
who  gave  a  start  on  seeing  her  niece  so  unexpectedly  be- 
fore her.     "  It  is  no(  nice,  and  it  is  not  tru^  |  "     rj   >\:i 


''K^ 


i 


LA  CORfilVEAU. 


373 


"But.it  is  true  I  Fa  ichon  Dodier  !  if  it  be  not  nice. 
There  is  nothing;  nice  to  be  said  of  our  sex,  except  by 
foolish  men !  Women  know  one  another  better !  But, 
continued  she,  scrutinizing  her  niece  with  her  keen  black 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  pierce  her  througli  and  through, 
"  what  ill  wind  or  Satan's  errand  has  broujjht  you  to  St. 
Valier  to  day,  Fanchon  ?  " 

"No  ill  wind,  nor  ill  errand  cither,  I  hope,  aunt.  I 
come  by  command  of  my  mistress  to  ask  you  to  go  to  the 
city.  She  is  biting  her  nails  off  with  impatience  to  see  you 
on  some  business." 

"  And  who  is  your  mistress,  who  dares  to  ask  La  Corri- 
venn  to  go  to  the  city  at  her  bidding?  "     /- 1 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  aunt,"  replied  Fanchon,  soothingly. 
T^*  was  I  counselled  her  to  send  for  you,  and  I  offered  to 
ill  you.     My  mistress  is  a  high  lady,  who  expects  to  be 
biill  higher  :  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  1  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Angdlique  des  Meloises,  one  hears 
enough  of  her  !  a  high  lady  indeed !  who  will  be  low  enough 
at  last !  A  minx  as  vain  as  she  is  pretty,  who  would 
marry  all  the  men  in  New  France,  and' kill  all  the  women 
if  she  could  have  her  way !  what  in  the  name  of  the  Sabbat, 
does  she  want  with  lia  Corriveau  ? " 

"  She  did  not  call  you  names,  aunt,  and  please  do  not 
say  such  things  of  her,  for  you  will  frighten  me  away  be- 
fore I  tell  my  errand.  Mademoiselle  Angdlique  sent  this 
piece  of  gold  as  earnest  money  to  prove  that  she  wants 
your  counsel  and  advice  in  an  important  matter." 

Fanchon  untied  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief,  and 
took  from  it  a  broad  shining  Louis  d'or.  She  placed  it  in 
the  hand  of  La  Corriveau,  whose  long  fingers  clutched  it 
like  the  talons  of  a  harpy.  Of  all  the  evil  passions  of  this 
woman,  the  greed  for  money  was  the  most  ravenous. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  got  a  piece  of  gold  like  that  to  cross 
my  hand  with,  Fanchon  I  "  said  she,  looking  at  it  admiringly 
and  spitting  on  it  for  good  luck. 

"  There  are  plenty  more  where  it  came  from,  aunt," 
replied  Fanchon.  "  Mademoiselle  could  fill  your  apron 
with  gold  every  day  of  the  week  if  she  would :  she  is  to 
marry  the  Intendant !  "  '  H-  ■/liSii 

"  Marry  the  Intendant  I  ah,  indeed  I  that  ii  why  she 
sends  for  me  so  urgently  I  I  jee!     Marry  the  Intendant 


,  it  VV 


,  1    \j:     »  »!  < .' 


374 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR, 


vpi 


W^. 


M 


She  will  bestow  a  pot  of  gold  on  La  Corriveau  to  accom 
plish  that  match !  " 

"  Maybe  she  would,  Aunt ;  I  would,  myself.  But  it  ii 
not  that  she  wishes  to  consult  you  about  just  now.  She 
lost  her  jewels  at  the  ball,  and  wants  your  help  to  find 
them." 

"  Lost  her  jewels,  eh  ?  Did  she  say  you  were  to  tell 
me  that  she  had  lost  her  jewels,  Fanchon  ?  • 

"  Yes,  Aunt,  that  is  what  she  wants  to  consult  you 
about,"  replied  Fanchon,  with  simplicity.  But  the  keen 
perception  of  La  Corriveau  saw  that  a  second  purpose  lay 
behind  it. 

"  A  likely  tale  ! "  muttered  she,  "  that  so  rich  a  lady 
would  send  for  La  Corriveau  from  St.  Valier  to  find  a  few 
jewels  I  But  it  will  do.  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  city.  I 
cannot  refuse  an  invitation  like  that.  Gold  fetches  any 
woman,  Fanchon.  It  fetches  me  always.  It  will  fetch 
you  too,  some  day,  if  you  are  lucky  enough  to  give  it  the 
chance." 

"  I  wish  it  would  fetch  me  now.  Aunt ;  but  poor  girls 
who  live  by  service  and  wages  have  small  chance  to  be 
sent  for  in  that  way  !  We  are  glad  to  get  the  empty  hand 
without  the  money.  Men  are  so  scarce  with  this  cruel 
war,  that  they  might  easily  have  a  wife  to  each  finger,  were 
it  allowed  by  the  law.  I  heard  Dame  Tremblay  say — and 
I  thought  her  very  right — the  Church  does  not  half  con- 
sider our  condition  and  necessities." 

"  Dame  Tremblay  !  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beau- 
port.  She  who  would  have  been  a  witch,  and  could  not  I 
Satan  would  not  have  her !  "  exclaimed  La  Corriveau, 
scornfully.  "  Is  she  still  housekeeper  and  bedmaker  at 
Beaumanoir  \ " 

Fanchon  was  honest  enough  to  feel  rather  indignant 
at  this  speech.  "  Don't  speak  so  of  her,  Aunt ;  she  is  not 
bad.  Although  I  ran  away  from  her,  and  took  service  with 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,  I  will  not  speak  ill  of  her." 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  from  Beaumanoir  ? "  asked  La 
Corriveau. 

Fanchon  reflected  a  moment  upon  the  mystery  of  the 
Lady  of  Beaumanoir,  and  something  checked  her  tongue  ; 
as  if  it  were  not  safe  to  tell  all  she  knew  to  her  aunt,  who 
would,  moreover,  be  sure  to  fitd  out  from  Ang^lique  her 
self  as  much  as  her  mistress  wished  her  to  know. 


r 


LA  CORRIVEAV, 


VII 


lignant 

is  not 

:e  with 

ier." 

:ed  La 

lof  the 

jnguei 
|it,  who 
le  her 


**I  did  not  like  Dame  Tremblay,  Aunt,"  repHeci  she  ] 
•*  I  preferred  to  live  with  Mademoiselle  An<j^lique.  She  is 
A  lady,  a  beauty,  who  dresses  to  surpass  any  picture  in  the 
book  of  Modes  from  Paris,  which  I  often  looked  at  on  her 
dressing-table.  She  allowed  me  to  imitate  them,  or  wear 
her  cast-off  dresses,  which  were  better  than  any  other  ladies 
new  ones.  I  have  one  of  them  on.  Look,  Aunt !  "  Fan 
chon  spread  out  very  complacently  the  skirt  of  a  pretty 
blue  robe  she  wore. 

La  Corriveau  nodded  her  head  in  a  sort  of  silent  ap- 
proval, and  remarked :  "  She  is  free-handed  enough !  She 
gives  what  costs  her  nothing,  and  takes  all  she  can  get,  and 
is,  after  all,  a  trollope,  like  the  rest  of  us,  Fanchon,  who 
would  be  very  good  if  there  were  neither  men  nor  money 
nor  fine  clothes  in  the  world,  to  tempt  poor  silly  women." 

"  You  do  say  such  nasty  things,  Aunt ! "  exclaimed  Fan- 
chon, flashing  with  indignation.  "I  will  hear  no  more  !  I 
am  going  into  the  house  to  see  dear  old  Uncle  Dodier, 
who  has  been  looking  through  th#  window  at  me  for  ten 
minutes  past,  and  dared  not  come  out  to  speak  to  me.  You 
are  too  hard  on  poor  old  Uncle  Dodier.  Aunt,"  said  Fan- 
chon, boldly.  "  If  you  cannot  be  kind  to  him,  why  did  you 
marry  him  ? " 

"  Why,  I  wanted  a  husband,  and  he  wanted  my  money, 
that  was  all ;  and  I  got  my  bargain,  and  his  too,  Fanchon  I " 
and  the  woman  laughed  savagely. 

"  I  thought  people  married  to  be  happy,  Aunt,"  replied 
the  girl,  persistently. 

^'  Happy !  such  folly.  Satan  yokes  people  together  to 
bring  more  sinners  into  the  world,  and  supply  fresh  fuel 
for  his  fires." 

"  My  mistress  thinks  tht  re  is  no  happiness  like  a  good 
match,"  remarked  Fanchon  ;  "  and  I  think  so  too,  Aunt 
I  shall  never  wait  the  second  time  of  asking,  I  assure  you, 
Aunt." 

"You  are  a  fool,  Fanchon,"  said  La  Corriveau  ;  ^*but 
your  mistress  deserves  to  wear  the  ring  of  Cleopatra,  and 
to  become  the  mother  of  witches  and  harlots  for  all  time. 
Why  did  she  really  send  for  me  ? " 

The  girl  crossed  herself,  and  exclaimed :  "God  forbid  1 
Aunt ;  my  mistress  is  not  liki;  that  I " 

La  Corriveau  spat  at  the  mention  of  the  sacred  name. 
*'But  it  is  in  her,  Fanchon.     It  is  in  all  of  us  I     If  she  is 


3^6  '^'^^^  ClIIES  D'OK. 

not  so  already,  she  will  be.  But  go  into  the  house,  and  see 
your  foolish  uncle,  while  I  go  prepare  for  my  visit.  We  will 
set  out  at  once,  Fanchon — for  business  like  that  of  Angtf> 
Uque  des  Meloises  cannot  wait." 

■       ■.'?'.)  To.;'    i        ,.    l\*>  f>     " 

,  _ ;  '""  y.i' . ■:'.■,:  f;'(.a'> 

,■1!-   •'. i(>;    ti.'i  t 


CHAPTER  XXXVr. 


.     WEIRD   SISTERS;^^'^*     ''^^     '■•'^*'-'^ 

Fanchon  walked  into  the  house  to  see  her  uncle  Dodier. 
When  she  was  gone  the  countenance  of  La  Corriveau  put 
on  a  dark  and  terrible  expression.  Her  black  eyes  looked 
downwards,  seeming  to  penetrate  the  very  earth,  and  tc 
reflect  in  their  glittering  orbits  the  fires  of  the  under  world. 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments,  buried  in  deep  thought, 
with  her  arms  tightly  ftldetl  across  her  breast.  Her  fin- 
gers moved  nervously,  as  they  kept  time  with  the  quick 
motions  of  her  foot,  which  beat  the  floor. 

"  It  is  for  death,  and  no  lost  jewels,  that  girl  sends  for 
me  1 "  muttered  La  Corriveau,  through  her  teeth,  which 
flashed  white  and  cruel  between  her  thin  lips.  *'  She  has  a 
rival  in  her  love  for  the  Intendant,  and  she  will  lovingly, 
by  my  help,  feed  her  with  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas ! 
Ang^lique  des  Meloises  has  boldness,  craft  and  falseness 
for  twenty  women,  and  can  keep  secrets  like  a  nun.  She 
is  rich  and  ambitious,  and  would  poison  half  the  world, 
rather  than  miss  the  thing  she  sets  her  mind  on.  She  is  a 
girl  after  my  own  heart,  and  v\orth  the  risk  I  run  with  her. 
Her  riches  would  be  endless  should  she  succeed  in  her 
designs;  and  with  her  in  my  power,  nothing  she  has  would 
henceforth  be  her  own — but  mine  !  mine  !  Besides,"  ad- 
ded I^a  Corriveau,  her  thoughts  flashing  back  to  the  fate 
which  had  overtaken  her  progenitors — Exili  and  La  Voi- 
sin — ^*  1  miy  need  help  myself,  -.ome  day,  to  plead  with  the 
Intendant  on  my  own  account ;  who  knows  ?  " 

A  strange  thrill  ran  through  the  veins  of  La  Corriveau, 
but  she  instantly  threw  it  off.  "  I  know  what  she  wants," 
added  she.  "  I  will  take  it  with  me.  I  am  safe  in  trusting 
her  with  the  secret  of  Beatrice  Spara.  That  girl  is  worthy 
of  it  as  Brinvilliers  herself." 


WMiKD  srsrxjts. 


m 


La  Corriveau  entered  her  own  apartment.  She  locked 
the  door  behind  her,  drew  a  bunch  of  keys  from  her  bosom, 
and  turned  towards  a  cabinet  of  sinjijiilar  shape  and  Italian 
workmanship,  which  stootl  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment. 
It  was  an  antique  piece  of  furniture,  made  of  some  dark 
oriental  wood,  carved  over  with  fantastic  figures  from 
Etruscan  designs  by  the  cunnin<;  hand  of  an  old  Italian 
workman,  who  knew  well  how  to  make  secret  drawers  and 
invisible  concealments  for  things  dangtrons  and  forbidden. 
It  had  once  belonged  to  Antonio  Kxili,  who  had  caused 
it  to  be  made,  ostensibly  for  the  safe  keeping  of  his  cabal* 
istic  formulas  and  alciiemic  preparations,  when  searching 
for  the  Philosopher's  Stone  and  tlic  Elixir  of  Lif»;,  really, 
for  the  concealment  of  the  subtle  drugs  out  of  which  his 
alembics  distilled  the  a(/ua  to/a/ia,  and  his  crucibles  pre- 
pared the  poudre  de  succession. 

In  the  most  secret  place  of  all  were  deposited,  ready 
for  use,  a  few  vials  of  the  crystal  liquid,  every  single  drop 
of  which  contained  the  life  of  a  man,  and  which,  adminis- 
tered in  due  proportion  of  lime  and  measure,  killed  and 
left  no  sign,  numbering  its  victim's  days,  hours  and  minutes, 
exactly  according  to  the  will  and  malignity  of  his  destroyer. 

La  Corriveau  took  out  the  vials,  and  placed  them  care- 
fully in  a  casket  of  ebony  not  larger  than  a  woman's  hand. 
In  it  was  a  number  of  small  flaskets,  each  filled  with  pills 
like  grains  of  mustard  seed,  the  essence  and  quintessence 
of  various  poisons,  that  put  on  the  appearance  of  natural 
diseases,  and  which,  mixed  in  due  proportion  with  the 
Aqua  lb/ana^  covered  the  foulest  murders  with  the  lawful 
ensigns  of  the  angel  of  death. 

In  that  box  of  ebony  was  the  sublimated  dust  of  deadly 
night-shade,  which  kindles  the  red  fires  of  fever  and  rots 
the  roots  of  the  tongue.  There  was  the  fetid  powder  of 
Stramonium,  that  grips  the  lungs  like  an  asthma ;  and 
Quinia,  that  shakes  its  victims  like  the  cold  hand  of  the 
miasma  of  the  Pontine  Marshes.  The  essence  of  poppies, 
ten  times  sublimated,  a  few  grains  of  which  bring  on  the 
stupor  of  apoplexy ;  and  the  sardonic  plant,  that  kills  its 
victim  with  the  frightful  laughter  of  madness  on  nia 
countenance.  ^  ' 

The  knowledge  of  these  and  many  more  cursed  herbs, 
once  known  to  Medea  in  the  Colchian  land,  and  trans- 
planted to  Greece  and  'Rome,  with  the  enchantments  of 


i7« 


THE  CirtRN  If  OR. 


¥■ 


v'r 
W 


iheir  use,  h:ul  been  hai  decl,  by  a  long  succession  of  ior 
cerers  and  poisoners,  down  to  Rxili  and  Beatrice  Spara^ 
until  tiicy  came  into  the  possession  of  La  Corriveau,  the 
legitimate  inheritrix  of  this  lore  of  hell. 

But  Providence,  while  it  does  not  prevent  the  crimes 
which  determined  wickedness  resolves  to  commit,  never 
ceases  striding  against  them,  educing  good  out  of  evil,  and 
seeking  to  ameliorate  man's  wretched  estate.  It  fights  fire 
with  water.  It  combats  evil  with  good  and  error  with 
truth.  But  it  also  permits  men  to  fight  fire  with  fire,  and 
out  of  the  very  armor  of  Hell  brings  forth  weapons  to 
combat  the  prevailing  wickedness  of  the  time 

The  researches  of  the  alchemists  and  poisoners  had  dis- 
closed to  them  many  important  secrets  in  chemistry  which, 
in  the  hands  of  wise  and  good  men,  became  of  prime 
importance  in  the  cure  of  diseases,  after  they  had  been 
long  noted  for  their  baneful  effects. 

The  study  of  the  science  of  killing,  led  by  a  reverse  pro- 
cess to  that  of  the  science  of  healing,  and  a  whole  school 
of  medicine  founds  its  practice,  upon  the  principle  XhdXsmi- 
Ha  similihus  curantttr,  and  wise  physicians  now  use  those  * 
terrible  drugs,  not  to  take  life  as  the  poisoners  did,  but  as 
medicamenta,  to  fight  and  conquer  the  malignant  diseases 
which  these  deadly  substances,  administered  as  poisons 
simulate  and  appear  to  occasion. 

Before  closing  the  cabinet,  La  Corriveau  opened  one 
more  secret  drawer,  and  took  out,  with  a  hesitating  hand, 
as  if  uncertain  whether  to  do  so  or  no,  a  glittering  stiletto, 
sharp  and  cruel  to  see.  She  felt  the  point  of  it  mechanic- 
ally with  her  thumb  ;  and,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  touch, 
f>  aced  it  under  her  robe.  "  I  may  have  need  of  it,"  mut- 
tered she,  "  either  to  save  myself  or  to  make  sure  of  my 
work  on  another.  Beatrice  Spara  was  the  daughter  of  a 
Sicilian  Bravo,  and  she  liked  this  poignard  better  than 
even  the  poisoned  chalice." 

La  Corriveau  rose  up  now,  well  satisfied  with  her  fore- 
sight and  preparation.  She  placed  the  ebony  casket  care- 
fully in  her  bosom,  cherishing  it  like  an  only  child,  as  she 
walked  out  of  the  room  with  her  quiet,  tiger-like  tread. 
Her  look  into  the  future  was  pleasant  to  her  at  this  mo- 
ment. There  was  the  prospect  of  an  ample  reward  for  her 
trouble  and  risk,  and  the  anticipated  pleasure  of  practising 
her  skill  upon  one  whose  position  she  regarded  as  similar 


WEIRD  SISTRRS. 


379 


1.  the 


'imea 
levcr 
,  and 
tsfire 
with 
and 
to 


» 
ns 


iddis- 

vhich, 

prime 

been 

je  pro- 
school 
itsimi- 
5  those  ^ 
but  as 
Iseases 
loisons 

d  one 
hand, 
iletto, 
chanic- 
touch, 
"  mut- 
oC  my 
ir  of  a 
than 

;r  fore- 
;t  care- 
as  she 
tread, 
lis  mo- 
for  her 
ictising 
similar 


to  that  of  the  great  dames  of  the  Court,  whom  Ex  li  and 
La  Voisin  had  poisoned  durin^;  the  high  Carnival  d 
Death,  in  the  days  of  Louis  Quatorze. 

She  was  now  ready,  and  waited  impatiently  to  depart. 

The  good  man  Dodier  broujifht  the  caliche  to  the  door. 
It  was  a  substantial  two-wheeled  vehicle,  with  a  curious 
arrangement  of  springs,  made  out  uf  tiic  elastic  wood  of 
the  hickory.  The  horse,  a  stout  Norman  pony,  well  har- 
nessed, sleek  and  glossy,  was  lij^htly  held  by  the  hand  of 
the  good  man,  who  patted  it  kindly  as  an  old  friend  ;  and 
the  pony,  in  some  sort  after  an  equine  fashion,  returned 
the  affection  of  its  master. 

La  Corriveau,  with  an  agility  hardly  to  be  expected 
from  her  years,  seated  herself  beside  Fanchon  in  the 
caliche,  and  giving  her  willing  horse  a  sharp  cut  with  the 
lash  for  spite,  not  for  need — good  man  Dodier  said — only 
to  anger  him — they  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  were  soon 
out  of  sight  at  the  turn  of  the  dark  pine  woods,  on  their  way 
to  the  city  of  Quebec. 

Anglidque  des  Meloises  had  remained  all  day  in  her 
house,  counting  the  hours  as  they  flew  by,  laden  with  the 
fate  of  her  unsuspecting  rival  at  Beaamanoir.  < 

Night  had  now  closed  in,  the  lamps  were  lit ;  the  fire  again 
burned  red  upon  the  hearth.  Her  door  was  inexorably  shut 
against  all  visitors.  Lizette  had  been  sent  away  until  the 
morrow ;  Ang^liqiie  sat  alone  and  expectant  of  the  arrival 
of  La  Corriveau. 

The  gay  dress  in  which  %he  had  outshone  all  her  sex  at 
the  ball,  on  the  previous  night,  lay  still  in  a  heap  upon 
the  floor,  where  last  night  she  had  thrown  it  aside,  like  the 
robe  of  innocence  which  once  invested  her.  Her  face  was 
beautiful,  but  cruel,  and  in  its  expression  terrible  as 
Medea's  brooding  over  her  vengeance  sworn  against 
Creusa,  for  her  sin  with  Jason.  She  sat  in  a  careless  {/es- 
habille,  with  one  white  arm  partly  bare.  Her  long  golden 
locks  flowed  loosely  down  her  back  and  touched  the  floor, 
as  she  sat  on  her  chair  and  watched  and  waited  for  the 
coming  footsteps  of  La  Corriveau.  Her  lips  were  com- 
pressed with  a  terrible  resolution  ;  her  eyes  glanced  red 
as  they  alternately  reflected  the  glow  of  the  fire  within 
them  and  of  the  fire  without.  Her  hands  were  clasped 
nervously  together,  with  a  grip  like  iron,  and  lay  in  hei 
lap,  while  her  dainty  foot  marked  the  rhythm  of  the  tragi- 


38o 


TIJE  CHI  EN  aOR. 


a,. 
1^ 


cal  thoiigl  ts  that  swept  like  a  song  of  doom  through  het 
soul. 

The  few  conijjunctious  feelings  which  struggled  up 
into  her  mind  were  instantly  overborne  by  the  passionate 
reflection  that  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  must  die  !  "  I 
must  or  she  must — one  or  other !  We  cannot  both  live 
and  marry  this  man  !"  exclamed  she,  passionately.  "  Has 
it  come  to  this,  which  of  us  shall  be  the  wife,  which  the 
mistress  ?  By  God,  I  would  kill  him  too,  if  I  thought  he 
hesitated  in  his  choice,  but  he  shall  soon  have  no  choice 
but  one  !  Her  death  be  on  her  own  head  and  on  Bigot's — 
not  on  mine  !  " 

And  the  wretched  girl  strove  to  throw  the  guilt  of  the 
sin  she  premeditated  upon  her  victim,  upon  the  Intendant, 
upon  fate,  and  with  a  last  subterfuge  to  hide  the  enormity 
of  it  from  her  own  eyes,  upon  La  Corriveau,  whom  she 
would  lead  on  to  suggest  the  crime  and  commit  it !  a  course 
which  Ang^lique  tried  to  believe  would  be  more  venial 
than  if  it  were  suggested  by  herself !  less  heinous  in  her 
own  eyes,  and  less  wicked  in  the  sight  of  God. 

"Why  did  that  mysterious  woman  go  to  Beaumanoir  and 
place  herself  in  the  path  of  Angdlique  des  Meloises  ? "  ex- 
claimed she,  angrily.  "  Why  did  Bigot  reject  my  earnest 
prayer,  for  it  was  earnest  for  a  Lcttre  de  Cachet  to  send  her 
unharmed  away  out  of  New  France  ? " 

Then  Angelique  sat  and  listened  without  moving  for 
a  long  time.  The  clock  licked  loud  and  warningly.  There 
was  a  sighing  of  the  wind  aboift  the  windows  as  if  it  sought 
admittance  to  reason  and  remonstrate  with  her.  A  cricket 
sang  his  monotonous  song  on  the  hearth.  In  the  wainscot 
of  the  room  a  death  watch  ticked  its  doleful  omen.  The 
dog  in  the  court  yard  howled  plaintively  as  the  hour  of 
midnight  sounded  upon  the  Convent  bell,  close  by.  The 
bell  had  scarcely  ceased  ere  she  was  startled  by  a  slight 
creaking  like  the  opening  of  a  door,  followed  by  a  whisper 
ing  and  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  garments  as  of  one  ap- 
proaching with  cautious  steps  up  the  stair.  A  thrill  of 
expectation  not  unmingled  with  fear,  shot  through  the 
breast  of  Angelique.  She  sprang  up,  exclaiming  to  her- 
self, "  she  is  come,  and  all  the  demons  that  wait  on  mur- 
der come  with  her  into  my  chamber  !  "  A  knock  followed 
on  the  door.  Angelique,  very  agitated,  in  spite  of  her  fierce 
efforts  to  appear  calm,  bade  them  come  in.  "  ;ii  ;ij  mw 


WEIRD  StSTBKS. 


3»i 


Fanchon  opened  the  door,  and  with  a  courtes)  to  her 
mistress,  ushered  in  La  Corriveau,  who  walked  straight  into 
the  room,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  Angdlique. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  instantly  met  in  a  search- 
ing glance,  that  took  in  the  whole  look,  bearing,  dress  and 
ihnost  the  very  thoughts  of  each  other.  In  that  one 
glance  each  knew  and  understood  the  other  and  could 
trust  each  other  in  evil  if  not  in  good. 

And  there  was  trust  between  them.  The  evil  spirits 
that  possessed  each  of  their  hearts,  shook  hands  together 
and  a  silent  league  was  sworn  to  in  their  souls,  before  a  word 
was  spoken. 

And  yet  how  unlike  to  human  eye  were  these  two 
women  1  How  like  in  God's  eye  that  sees  the  heart  and 
reads  the  spirit,  of  what  manner  it  is  !  Ang<^lique,  radiant 
in  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  her  golden  hair  floating 
about  her  like  a  cloud  of  glory  round  a  daughter  of  the 
sun  I  with  her  womanly  perfections  which  made  the  world 
seem  brighter  for  such  a  revelation  of  completeness  in 
every  external  charm. 

La  Corriveau,  stern,  dark,  angular,  her  fine  cut  features 
crossed  with  thin  lines  of  cruelty  and  cunning,  no  mercy 
in  her  eyes,  still  less  on  her  lips,  and  none  at  all  in  her 
heart,  cold  to  every  humane  feeling  and  warming  only  to 
wickedness  and  avarice,  still,  these  women  recognized  each 
other  as  kindred  spirits,  crafty  and  void  of  conscience  in 
the  accomplishment  of  their  ends. 

"Had  fate  exchanged  the  outward  circumstances  of 
their  lives,  each  might  have  been  the  other  easily  and 
naturally.  The  proud  beauty  had  nothing  in  her  heart 
better  than  La  Corriveau,  and  the  witch  of  St.  Valier  if 
born  in  luxury  and  endowed  with  beauty  and  wealth, 
would  have  rivalled  Angelique  in  seductiveness  and  hardly 
fallen  below  her  in  ambition  and  power. 

La  Corriveau  saluted  Angdlique,  who  made  a  sign  to 
Fanchonto  retire.  The  girl  obeyed  somewhat  reluctantly. 
She  had  hoped  to  be  present  at  the  interview  between  her 
aunt  and  her  mistress,  for  her  curiosity  was  greatly  excited, 
and  she  now  suspected  ther^  was  more  in  this  visit  than 
she  had  been  told. 

Angelique  invited  La  Corriveau  to  remove  her  cloak 
and  broad  hat.  Seating  her  in  her  own  luxurious  chair,  she 
sat  down  beside  her  and  began  the  conversation  with  the 


}  '  "■' 


382  7W£  ch:en  jyoR. 

usual  platitudes  and  commonplaces  of  the  time,  dwelling 
longer  upon  them  than  need  was,  as  if  she  hesitated  or 
feared  to  bring  up  the  real  subject  of  this  midnight  con- 
ference. 

"  My  lady  is  fair  to  look  on.  All  women  will  admit 
that,  all  men  swear  to  it!"  said  La  Corriveau  in  a  harsh 
voice,  that  grated  ominously  like  the  door  of  hell  which  she 
was  opening,  with  this  commencement  of  her  business. 

Angdlique  replied  only  with  a  smile.  A  compliment 
from  La  Corriveau  even  was  not  wasted  upon  her,  but 
just  now  she  was  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss  of  explanation, 
looking  down  into  the  dark  pit,  resolved  yet  hesitating  to 
make  the  plunge. 

"  No  witch  or  witchery  but  your  own  charms  is  needed. 
Mademoiselle  !  "  continued  La  Corriveau,  falling  into  the 
tone  of  flattery  she  often  used  towards  her  dupes,  "  to  make 
what  fortune  you  will  in  this  world ;  what  pearl  ever  fished 
out  of  the  sea  could  add  a  grace  to  this  wondrous  hair  of 
yours  ?  Permit  me  to  touch  it,  Mademoiselle  ? " 

La  Corriveau  took  hold  of  a  thick  tress  and  held  it  up 
to  the  light  of  the  lamp,  where  it  shone  like  gold.  Ang^- 
lique  shrank  back  as  from  the  touch  of  fire.  She  withdrew 
her  hair  with  a  jerk  from  the  hand  of  La  Corriveau.  A 
shudder  passed  through  her  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  the 
last  parting  effort  of  her  good  genius  to  save  her. 

"  Do  not  touch  it !"  said  she  quickly,  "  I  have  set  my 
life  and  soul  on  a  desperate  venture,  but  my  hair  I  have 
devoted  it  to  our  Lady  of  St.  Foye,  it  is  hers,  not  mine  !  Do 
not  touch  it,  dame  Dodier." 

Ang^lique  was  thinking  of  a  vow  she  had  once  made 
before  the  shrine  of  the  little  church  of  Lorette.  "  My 
hair  is  the  one  thing  belonging  to  me  that  I  will  keep 
pure,"  continued  she,  "so  do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she 
added  apologetically. 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a  sneer. 
•*  I  am  used  to  strange  humors  in  people  who  ask  my  aid. 
They  always  fall  out  with  themselves  before  they  fall  in 
with  La  Corriveau." 

"-  Do  you  know  why  I  have  sent  for  you  at  this  hour, 
good  dame  Dodier  ?"  asked  Angelique,  abruptly, 

"  Call  me  La  Corriveau ;  I  am  not  good  dame  Dodier. 
mineMS  an  ill  name  and  I  like  it  best,  and  so  should  you, 
Mademoiselle,  for  the  business  you  sent  me  for  is  not 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


3S3 


iing 
i  or 
con- 

Imit 
arsh 
L  she 

inent 

but 

ition, 

ig  to 

eded, 

0  the 
make 
fished 
air  of 

it  up^ 
Ang^- 
:hdrew 
lu.     a 
yras  the 

set  my 

1  have 
le !  Do 

;  made 
"My 

11  keep 
"  she 

I  sneer, 
my  aid. 
y  fall  in 

is  hour, 

Dodier. 
)uld  you, 
ir  is  not 


what  people  who  say  their  prayers  call  good.  It  was  to  find 
your  lost  jewels  that  Fanchon  Dodier  summoned  me  to 
your  abode,  was  it  not  ?  "  La  Corriveau  uttered  this  with  a 
suppiessed  smile  of  incredulity.       '■    ' 

"  Ah  !  I  bade  Fanchon  tell  you  that,  in  order  to  deceive 
her,  not  you !  But  you  know  better,  La  Corriveau  I  It  was 
not  for  the  sake  of  paltry  jewels  I  desired  you  to  come  to 
the  city  to  see  me  at  this  hour  of  midnight." 

"  I  conjectured  as  much  !"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a 
sardonic  smile  which  showed  her  small  teeth  white,  even 
and  cruel  as  those  of  a  wildcat.  "  The  jewel  you  have 
lost  is  the  heart  of  your  lover,  and  you  thought  La 
Corriveau  had  a  charm  to  win  it  back,  was  not  that  it. 
Mademoiselle  ? " 

Angdlique  sat  upright,  gazing  boldly  in  the  eyes  of  her 
visitor.  "  Yes,  it  was  that,  and  more  than  that  I  summon- 
ed you  for ;  can  you  not  guess  ?  you  are  wise,  La  Corriveau, 
you  know  a  woman's  desire  better  than  she  dare  avow  it  to 
herself ! " 

"  Ah !"  replied  La  Corriveau,  returning  her  scrutiny 
with  the  eyes  of  a  basilisk ;  a  green  light  flashed  out  of 
their  dark  depths,  "  you  have  a  lover  and  you  have  a  rival 
too  !  A  woman  more  potent  than  yourself,  in  spite  of  your 
beauty  and  your  fascinations,  has  caught  the  eye  and  en- 
tangled the  affections  of  the  man  you  love,  and  you  ask 
my  counsel  how  to  win  him  back  and  how  to  triumph  over 
your  rival.  Is  it  not  for  that  you  have  summoned  La 
Corriveau  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  is  that  and  still  more  than  that  !  "  replied 
Ang^lique,  clenching  her  hands  hard  together  and  gazing 
earnestly  at  the  fire  with  a  look  of  meiciless  triumph  at 
what  she  saw  there  reflected  from  her  own  thoughts, 
distinctly  as  if  she  looked  at  her  own  face  in  a  mirror. 

"  It  is  all  that  and  still  more  than  that,  cannot  you 
guess  yet  why  I  have  summoned  you  here  }  "  continued 
Angdlique,  rising  and  laying  her  left  hand  firmly  upon  the 
shoulder  of  La  Corriveau  as  she  bent  her  head  and  whis- 
pered with  terrible  distinctness  in  her  ear : 

La  Corriveau  heard  her  whisper,  and  looked  up  eagerly, 
"Yes,  I  know  now,  Mademoiselle,  you  would  kill  youi 
rival !  There  is  death  n  your  eye,  in  your  voice,  in  youi 
heart,  but  not  in  your  hand !  You  would  kill  the  woman 
who  robs  you  of  your  lover,  and  you  have  sent  for  La 


384  THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 

Corriveau  to  help  you  in  the  good  work !  It  is  a  good 
work  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  to  kill  her  rival !  but  why 
should  I  do  that  to  please  you  P  What  do  I  care  for  your 
lover,  Angdlique  des  Mdioises  ?  ^'' ' 

Ang^lique  was  startled  to  hear  from  the  lips  of 
another,  words  which  gave  free  expression  to  her  own 
secret  thoughts.  A  denial  was  on  her  lips,  but  the  lie 
remained  unspoken.  She  trembled  before  La  Corriveau, 
but  her  resolution  was  unchanged. 

"  It  was  not  only  to  please  me,  but  to  profit  yourself 
that  I  sent  for  you  !  "  Angdlique  replied  eagerly,  like  one 
trying  to  outstrip  her  conscience  and  prevent  it  from  over- 
taking her  sin.  "  Hark  you !  you  love  gold,  La  Corriveau  1 
I  will  give  you  all  you  crave  in  return  for  your  help ! 
— for  help  me  you  shall !  you  will  never  repent  of  it  if  you 
do  ;  you  will  never  cease  to  regret  it  if  you  do  not !  I  will 
make  you  rich,  La  Corriveau  !  or  else,  by  God  1  do  you 
hear?  I  swear  it !  I  will  have  you  burnt  for  a  witch  and 
your  ashes  strewn  all  over  St.  Valier  !"  \ 

La  Corriveau  spat  contemptuously  upon  the  floor  at  the 
holy  name.  "  You  are  a  fool,  Angdlique  des  Meloises,  to 
speak  thus  to  me !  Do  you  know  who  and  what  I  am  ? 
you  are  a  poor  butterfly  to  flutter  your  gay  wings  against 
La  Corriveau  I  but  still  I  like  your  spirit !  women  like 
you  are  rare.  The  blood  of  Exili  could  not  have  spoken 
bolder  than  you  do  ;  you  want  the  life  of  a  woman  who  has 
kindled  the  hell  fire  of  jealousy  in  your  heart,  and  you 
want  me  to  tell  you  how  to  get  your  revenge  ! " 

"  I  do  want  you  to  do  it  La  Corriveau,  and  your  reward 
shall  be  great !  "  answered  Angdlique  with  a  burst  of  im- 
patience.    She  could  beat  about  the  bush  no  longer. 

"  To  kill  a  woman  or  a  man  were  of  itself  a  pleasure  even 
without  the  profit,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  doggedly.  "  But 
nrhy  should  I  run  myself  into  danger  for  you.  Mademoiselle 
des  Meloises  1   Have  you  gold  enough  to  balance  the  risk  ? " 

Ange'lique  had  now  fairly  overleaped  all  barriers  of  re- 
serve. "  I  will  give  you  more  than  your  eyes  ever  beheld, 
ij  you  will  serve  me  in  this  matter,  Dame  Dodier  1"     u 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  I  am  getting  old  and  trust  neither  man 
nor  woman.  Give  a  pledge  of  your  good  faith,  before  you 
speak  one  word  farther  to  me  on  this  business,  Mademoi 
selle  des  Meloises."  Le  Corriveau  held  out  her  double 
hands  significantly.  >:>',^' 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


iH 


rood 

why 
your 

s    of 

own 

le  lie 

iveau, 

(  ai 
\ 

urself 

e  one 

over- 
iveau  I 

help  I 
.  if  you 

1  will 
io  you 
;h  and 
\ 

r  at  the 
3ises,  to 

I  am? 

against 
len  like 

spoken 

rho  has 

,nd  you 

reward 
It  of  ini" 
ler. 

ire  even 
"  But 
imoiselle 
^erisk?" 
rs  of  re- 
beheld, 

[her  man 
[fore  you 
[ademoi 
double 


**  A  pledge?  that  is  gold  you  want !"  replied  Ang^lique. 
**  Yes,  La  Corriveau ;  I  will  bind  you  to  me  with  chains  of 
gold,  you  shall  have  it  uncounted,  as  I  get  it.  Gold  enough 
to  make  you  the  richest  woman  in  St.  Valier,  the  richest 
peasant  woman  in  New  France." 

"I  am  no  peasant  woman,"  replied  La  Corri\eau  with 
a  touch  of  pride,  "  1  come  of  a  race  ancient  and  terrible  as 
the  Roman  Caasars !  but  pshaw  !  what  have  you  to  do  with 
that  ?  give  me  the  pledge  of  your  good  faith  and  I  will  help 

•you  I "      .  . 

Ang^lique  rose  instantly,  and  opening  the  drawer  of 
an  escritoire  took  out  a  long  silken  purse  filled  with  Louis 
d'or  which  peeped  and  glittered  through  the  interstices  of 
the  net-work.  She  gave  it  with  the  air  of  one  who  cared 
nothing  for  money 

La  Corriveau  extended  both  hands  eagerly,  clutching 
as  with  the  claws  of  a  Harpy.  She  pressed  the  purse  to 
her  thin  bloodless  lips  and  touched  with  the  ends  of  her 
bony  fingers,  the  edges  of  the  bright  coin  visible  through  the 
silken  net. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  rare  earnest  penny  !"  exclaimed  La 
Corriveau,  "  I  will  do  your  whole  bidding,  Mademoiselle, 
only  I  must  do  it  in  my  own  way.  I  have  guessed  aright 
the  nature  of  your  trouble  and  the  remedy  you  seek.  But 
1  cannot  guess  the  name  of  your  false  lover  nor  that  of  the 
woman  whose  doom  is  sealed  from  this  hour." 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  the  name  of  my  lover,"  replied  An- 
g^lique.  She  was  reluctant  to  mention  the  name  of  Bigot 
as  her  lover.  The  idea  was  hateful  to  her.  "  The  name  of 
the  woman  I  cannot  tell  you,  even  if  I  would,"  added  she. 

'*  How,  Mademoiselle  ?  you  put  the  death  mark  upon 
one  you  do  not  know  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  name.  Nevertheless,  La  Corriveau, 
that  gold  and  ten  times  as  much  is  yours  if  you  relieve  me 
of  the  torment  of  knowing  that  the  secret  chamber  of 
Beaumanoir  contains  a  woman  whose  life  is  death  to  all 
ray  hopes,  and  disappointment  to  all  my  plans.  / 

The  mention  of  Beaumanoir  startled  La  Corriveau. 

"  The  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  whom 
the  Abenaquis  brought  in  from  Acadia  ?  I  saw  that  lady  in 
the  woods  of  St.  Valier,  when  I  was  gathering  mandrakes 
one  summer  day.  She  asked  me  for  some  water  in  God's 
name.    I  curse  1  her  silently,  but  I  gave  her  milk.    I  had 

25 


«86 


THE  CHI  EN  nOR. 


no  water.  Sh  j  thanked  me.  Oh,  how  she  thanked  me  I  lui 
body  ever  before  thanked  La  Corriveau  so  sweetly  as  she 
did  !  I,  even  I  bade  her  a  good  journey,  when  she  started 
on  afresh  with  her  Indian  guides,  after  asking  me  the 
distance  and  direction  of  Beaumanoir.        ^    •  : 

This  unexpected  touch  of  sympathy  surprised  and 
revolted  Angdlique  a  little. 

"  You  know  her  then  !  That  is  rare  fortune.  La  Corri- 
veau," said  she,  "  she  will  remember  you,  you  will  have 
less  difficulty  in  gaining  access  to  her  and  winning  her 
confidence.  ' 

La  Corriveau  clapped  her  hands,  laughing  a  strange 
laugh,  that  sounded  as  if  it  came  from  a  deep  well. 

"  Know  her  ?  That  is  all  I  know ;  she  thanked  me 
sweetly.  I  said  so,  did  I  not?  but  I  cursed  her  in  my 
heart,  when  she  was  gone.  I  saw  she  was  both  beautiful 
and  good,  two  things  I  hate." 

"  Do  you  call  her  beautiful  ?  I  care  not  whether  she  bb 
good,  that  will  avail  nothing  with  him  ;  but  is  she  beauti- 
ful, La  Corriveau  "i   Is  she  fairer  than  I,  think  you?  " 

La  Corriveau  looked  at  Angdlique  intently  and  laughed. 
**  Fairer  than  you  ?  listen  I  It  was  as  if  I  had  seen  a  vision. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  and  very  sad  ;  I  could  wish  it  were 
another  than  she,  for  Oh !  she  spoke  to  me  the  sweetest 
I  was  ever  spoken  to  since  I  came  into  the  world." 

Angdlique  ground  her  teeth  with  anger.  "  What  did  you 
do,  La  Corriveau  ?  Did  you  not  not  wish  her  dead  ;  did  you 
think  the  Intendant  or  any  man  could  not  help  loving  her 
to  the  rejection  of  any  other  woinan  in  the  world  ?  What 
did  you  do  ? " 

"  Do  ?  I  went  on  picking  my  mandrakes  in  the  forest. 
and  waited  for  you  to  send  for  La  Corriveau  !  You  desire 
to  punish  the  Intendant  for  his  treachery  in  forsaking  you 
for  one  more  beautiful  and  better  !  " 

It  was  but  a  bold  guess  of  La  Corriveau,  but  she  had 
divined  the  truth.  The  Intendant  Bigot  was  the  man  who 
was  pla)ring  false  with  Angdliq  le. 

Her  words  filled  up  the  measure  of  Ang^lique's  jealous 
hate,  and  confirmed  her  terrible  resolution.  Jealousy  is 
never  so  omnipotent  as  when  its  rank  suspicions  are  fed 
and  watered  by  the  tales  of  others. 

"  There  can  be  but  one  life  between  her  and  me ! " 
replied  the  vehement  girl  j  "  Angdlique  des  Meloises  would 


WEIKD  SISTERS. 


387 


:1  no 
s  she 
arted 
e  the 

"    and 

Corri- 
i  have 
ig  her 

itrange 

ed  me 

in  my 

eautiful 

she  \k 
beauti- 

iaughed. 
a  vision. 
1  it  were 
sweetest 

t  did  you 

did  you 

ving  hei 

What 

le  forest, 
ju  desire 
.king  you 

t  she  had 
man  who 

;'s  jealous 
ealousy  is 
ns  are  fed 

and  me!" 
ises  would 


die  a  thousand  deaths  rather  than  live  to  feed  on  the 
crumbs  of  any  man's  love  while  another  woman  feasts 
at  his  table.  1  sent  for  you,  La  Corriveau,  to  take  my  gold 
and  kill  that  woman !  " 

"  Kill  that  woman  !  It  is  easily  said,  Mademoiselle,  but 
I  will  not  forsake  you  were  she  the  Madonna  herself !  1 
hate  her  for  her  goodness,  as  you  hate  her  for  her  beauty. 
Lay  another  purse  by  the  side  of  this,  and  in  thrice  three 
days  there  shall  be  weeping  in  the  Chtteau  of  Beauman- 
oir,  and  no  one  shall  know  who  has  killed  the  couchquean 
of  the  Chevalier  Intendant !  " 

Ang^lique  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  exultation  like  a 
Pantheress  seizing  her  prey.  She  clasped  La  Corriveau  in 
her  arms,  and  kissed  her  dark  withered  cheek,  exclaiming, 
"yes  I  that  is  her  name,  his  couchquean  she  is  I  His  wife, 
she  is  not,  and  never  shall  be  ! — Thanks  !  a  million  golden 
thanks.  La  Corriveau,  if  you  fulfil  your  prophecy.  In 
thrice  three  days  from  this  hour,  was  it  not  that  you  said  ? " 

La  Corriveau  cared  not  for  caresses,  and  strove  to 
release  herself  as  Angdlique  impetuously  wound  one  of  her 
long  golden  locks  round  her  neck.  "  I  would  not  let  you 
touch  my  hair  before,"  said  she  "  I  wind  it  round  you  now,, 
in  token  of  my  love  and  my  desire  to  bind  you  forever  to 
my  fortunes." 

"  Tush  !  your  love !  save  such  folly  for  men  ;  it  is  lost  on 
me !"  replied  La  Corriveau,  releasing  herself  from  the  clasp 
of  Ang^lique  and  unwinding  the  long  golden  tress  that 
encircled  her  throat.  .  . ... 

"  Understand  me  !  "  said  La  Corriveau,  "  I  serve  you 
for  your  money,  not  for  your  liking !  but  I  have  my  own 
joy  in  making  my  hand  felt  in  a  world  which  I  hate  and 
which  hates  me  ! "  La  Corriveau  held  out  her  hands  as  if 
the  ends  of  her  fingers  were  trickling  poison.  "  Death 
drops  on  whomsoever  I  send  it,"  said  she,  "  so  secretly  and 
so  subtly  that  the  very  spirits  of  air  cannot  detect  the  trace 
of  the  Aqua  To/ana" 

Angdlique  listened  with  amaze,  yet  trembled  with  eager- 
ness to  hear  more.  "  What !  La  Corriveau,  have  you  the 
secret  of  the  Aqua  To/ana  which  the  world  believes  was 
burnt  with  its  possessors  two  generations  ago,  on  the  place 
DeGr^ve?" 

"   Such  secrets  never  die,"  replied  the  poisoner,  "they 
are  too  precious  1  Few  men,  still  fewer  womer^  are  there. 


<      A 


H-;;  ■" 


388  THE  CHIEN  D'Ok. 

who  would  not  listen  at  the  door  of  Hell,  to  learn  them 
The  King  in  his  palace,  the  Lady  in  her  tapestried  chani> 
her,  the  Nun  in  her  cell,  the  very  beggar  on  the  street, 
would  stand  on  a  pavement  of  fire,  to  read  the  tablets 
which  record  the  secret  of  the  Aqua  To/ana^  Let  me  see 
your  hand,"  added  she  abruptly,  speaking  to  Angdlique. 

Angdlique  held  out  her  hand,  La  Corriveau  seized  it ; 
she  looked  intently  upon  the  slender  fingers  and  oval  palm. 
"There  is  evil  enough  in  these  long  sharp  spatulae  of 
yours,"  said  she,  "to  ruin  the  world.  You  are  worthy  to  be 
the  inheritrix  of  all  I  know.  These  fingers  would  pick  fniit 
off  the  forbidden  tree  for  men  to  eat  and  die !  The  tempter 
only  is  needed,  and  he  is  never  far  off !  Angdlique  des 
Meloises  1  I  may  one  day  teach  you  the  grand  secret  j 
meantime,  I  will  show  you  that  I  possess  it."         't^'  '     v 


1 

4\- 

■  •,.('5' 

1 

CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

'  .  1     J 

::.ii  -.f;^-.  "'•;.; 

"flaskets  of  drugs,  full  to  their  wicked  lips." 

La  Corriveau  took  the  ebony  casket  from  her  bosom, 
and  laid  it  solemnly  on  the  table.  "Do  not  cross  yourself," 
exclaimed  she  angrily,  as  she  saw  Angdlique  mechanically 
make  the  sacred  sign.  "There  can  come  no  blessings 
here.  There  is  death  enough  in  that  casket  to  kill  every 
man  and  woman  in  New  France." 

Ang^lique  fastened  her  gaze  upon  the  casket  as  if  she 
would  have  drawn  out  the  secret  of  its  contents  by  the  very 
magnetism  of  her  eyes. — She  laid  her  hand  upon  it  caress- 
ingly, yet  tremblingly. — Eager,  yet  fearful,  to  see  its  con- 
tents. 

"  Open  it !  "  cried  La  Corriveau,  "  press  the  spring,  and 
you  will  see  such  a  casket  of  jewels  as  Queens  might  envy. 
It  was  the  wedding  gift  of  Beatrice  Spara,  and  once  be- 
longed to  the  house  of  Borgia — Lucrezia  Borgia  had  it 
from  her  terrible  father,  and  he,  from  the  Prince  ot 
Demons ! " 

Ang^lique  pressed  the  little  spring — the  lid  flew  open, 
and  there  flashed  from  it,  a  light  which  for  the  moment 


"/^LASA'£rS  OF  PA'l/GS,  ^C' 


3^9 


dazzled  her  eyes  with  its  brilliancy.  She  thrust  the  casket 
from  her  in  alarm,  and  retreated  a  few  steps,  imagining  she 
smelt  the  odor  of  some  deadly  perfume. 

**  I  dare  not  approach  it,"  said  she.  "  Its  glittering 
terrifies  me.     Its  odor  sickens  me."     < 

"  Tush  !  it  is  your  weak  imagination  I  "  replied  La  Cor- 
riveau,  "  your  sickly  conscience  frightens  you  1  You  will 
need  to  cast  off  both  to  rid  Beaumanoir  of  the  presence  of 
your  rival !  The  Aqua  Tofana  in  the  hands  of  a  coward 
is  a  gift  as  fatal  to  its  possessor  as  to  its  victim." 

Angdlique  with  a  strong  effort  tried  to  master  her  fear, 
but  could  not.     She  would  not  again  handle  the  casket. 

La  Corriveau  looked  at  her  as  if  suspecting  this  display 
of  weakness.  She  then  drew  the  casket  to  herself  and  took 
out  a  vial,  gilt  and  chased  with  strange  symbols.     It  was. 
not  larger  than  the  little  finger  of  a  delicate  girl.     Its  con- 
tents glittered  like  a  diamond  in  the  sunshine. 

L^  Corriveau  shook  it  up,  and  immediately  the  liquid 
was  filled  with  a  million  sparks  of  fire.  It  was  the  Aqua 
Tofana  undiluted  by  mercy,  instantaneous  in  its  effect  and 
not  medicable  by  any  antidote.  Once  administered,  there 
was  no  more  hope  for  its  victim  than  for  the  souls  of  the 
damned  who  have  received  the  final  judgment.  One  drop 
of  that  bright  water  upon  the  tongue  of  a  Titan,  would 
blast  him  like  Jove's  thunderbolt,  would  shrivel  him  up  to  a 
black  unsightly  cinder ! 

This  was  the  poison  of  anger  and  revenge  that  would 
not  wait  for  time,  and  braved  the  world's  justice.  With 
that  vial  La  Borgia  killed  her  guests  at  the  fatal  banquet 
in  her  palace,  and  Beatrice  Spara  in  her  fury  destroyed  the 
fair  Milanese  who  had  stolen  from  her  the  heart  of  Antonio 
Exili. 

This  terrible  water  was  rarely  used  alone  b}  the  poison- 
ers, but  it  formed  the  basis  of  a  hundred  slower  potions 
which  ambition,  fear,  avarice  or  hypocrisy  mingled  with  the 
element  of  time  and  colored  with  the  various  hues  and 
aspects  of  natural  disease. 

Ang^lique  sat  down  and  leaned  towards  La  Corriveau, 
supporting  her  chin  on  the  palms  of  her  hands  as  she  bent 
eagerly  over  the  table,  drink  ng  in  every  word  as  the  hot  sand 
of  the  desert  drinks  in  the  water  poured  upon  it.  "  What  is 
that  "* "  said  she,  pointing  to  a  vial  as  white  as  milk  and 
seemingly  as  harmless. 


-  >' 


h 


390 


THE  Cfi/EA  D'OR. 


iM 


mi 


"That !  "  replied  La  Corriveau,  "  is  the  milk  o(  mercy, 
It  brings  on  painless  consumption,  and  decay.  It  cats  the 
life  out  of  a  man,  while  the  moon  empties  and  fills  once  or 
twice.  His  friends  say  he  dies  of  quick  decline,  and  so 
he  does  !  ha  !  ha  !  when  his  enemy  wills  it  I  The  strong 
man  becomes  a  skeleton,  and  blooming  maidens  sink  into 
their  graves  blighted  and  bloodless,  with  white  lips  and 
hearts  that  cease  gradually  to  beat,  men  know  not  why. 
Neither  saint  nor  sacrament  can  arrest  the  doom  of  the 
milk  of  mercy." 

"This  vial,"  continued  she,  lifting  up  another  from  the 
casket  and  replacing  the  first,  licking  her  thin  lips  with 
profound  satisfaction  as  she  did  so.  "  This  contains  the 
acrid  venom,  that  grips  the  heart  like  the  claws  of  a  tiger, 
and  the  man  drops  down  dead  at  the  time  appointed  I 
Fools  say  he  died  of  the  visitation  of  God !  The  visitation 
of  God  !  "  repeated  she,  in  an  accent  of  scorn,  and  the  foul 
witch  spat  as  she  pronounced  the  sacred  name.  "  Leo  in 
his  sign  ripens  the  deadly  nuts  of  the  East,  which  kill 
when  God  will  not  kill !  He  who  has  this  vial  for  a  posses- 
sion is  the  lord  of  life  !  "  She  replaced  it  tenderly.  It  was 
a  favorite  vial  of  La  Corriveau. 

"This  one,  *  continued  she,  taking  up  another,  "strikes 
the  dead  palsy,  and  this  kindles  the  slow  inextinguishable 
fire?  of  Typhus.  Here  is  one  that  dissolves  all  the  juices  of 
the  body  and  the  blood  of  a  man's  veins  runs  into  a  lake  of 
dropsy.  This !  "  taking  up  a  green  vial,  "  contains  the 
quintessence  of  mandrakes  distilled  in  the  Alembic  when 
Scorpio  rules  the  hour.  Whoever  takes  this  liquid," — La 
Corriveau  shook  it  up  lovingly, — "  dies  of  torments  incura- 
ble as  the  foul  disease  of  lust  which  it  simulates  and 
provokes." 

There  was  one  vial  which  contained  a  black  liquid  like 
oil.  "It  is  a  relic  of  the  past,"  said  she,  "an  heir-loom 
from  the  Untori^  the  ©inters  of  Milan.  With  that  oil  they 
spread  death  through  the  doomed  city,  anointing  its  doors 
and  thresholds  with  the  plague  until  the  people  died. 

The  terrible  tale  of  the  ointers  of  Milan,  has  since  the 
days  of  La  Corriveau  been  written  in  choice  Italian  by 
Manroni,  in  whose  wonderful  book,  he  that  will  may 
read  it. 

"  This  vial,"  continued  the  witch,  "  contains  innumera- 
ble griefs,  that  wait  upon  the  pillows  of  rejected  and  heart 


'^FIASA'EI'S  OF  DRUGS,  ^C 


39 « 


broken  lovers,  and  the  wisest  physicians  arc  mocked  with 
lying  appearances  of  disease  that  defy  his  skill  and  make 
a  fool  of  his  wisdom. 

**Oh,  say  no  more!"  exclaimed  Ang{rlique,  shocked 
and  terrified.  However  inordinate  in  her  desires,  she  wat 
dainty  in  her  ways.  "  It  is  like  a  sabbat  of  witches  to  hear 
you  talk,  I^a  Corriveau  !  "  cried  she,  "  I  will  have  none  of 
those  foul  things  which  you  propose.  My  rival  shall  die 
like  a  lady!  I  will  not  feast  like  a  vampire  on  her  dead 
body,  nor  shall  you.  You  have  other  vials  in  the  casket  of 
better  hue  and  flavor.  What  is  this  ?  "  continued  Ang^lique 
taking  out  a  rose-tinted  and  curiously  twisted  bottle  sealed 
on  the  top  jvith  the  mystic  pentagon.  *'  This  looks  prettier 
and  may  be  not  less  sure  than  the  milk  of  mercy  in  its 
effect,  what  is  it  ?  "  Ha  !  Ha  !  laughed  the  woman  with 
her  weirdest  laugh.  "  Your  wisdom  is  but  folly,  Angdlique 
des  Meloises !  You  would  kill  and  still  spare  your  enemy  1 
That  was  the  smelling  bottle  of  La  Brinvilliers,  who  took 
it  with  her  to  the  great  Ball  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where 
she  secretly  sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  it  upon  the  handker- 
chief of  the  fair  Louise  Gauthier,  who,  the  moment  she  put 
it  to  her  nostrils,  fell  dead  upon  the  floor  !  She  died  and 
gave  no  sign,  and  no  man  knew  how  or  why !  But  she 
was  the  rival  of  Brinvilliers  for  the  love  of  Gaudin  de  St. 
Croix,  and  in  that  she  resembles  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir,  as 
you  do  La  Brinvilliers ! " 

'*  And  she  got  her  reward  !  1  would  have  done  the  same 
thing  for  the  same  reason  !  what  more  have  you  to  relate 
of  this  most  precious  vial  of  your  casket  ? "  asked  Angdlique. 

"  That  its  virtue  is  unimpaired.  Three  drops  sprinkled 
upon  a  Bouquet  of  flowers,  and  its  odor  breathed  by  man 
or  woman,  causes  a  sudden  swoon  from  which  there  is  no 
awakening  more  in  this  world.  People  feel  no  pain,  but  die 
smiling  as  if  Ajigels  had  kissed  away  their  breath.  Is  it 
not  a  precious  toy,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Oh !  blessed  vial !  "  exclaimed  Ange'lique,  pressing  it 
to  her  lips,  "  thou  art  my  good  Angel  to  kiss  away  the 
breath  of  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  !  She  shall  sleep  on  roses. 
La  Corriveau,  and  you  shall  make  her  bed  !  " 

"  It  is  a  sweet  death,  befitting  one  who  dies  for  love,  or 
is  killed  by  the  jealoasy  of  a  dainty  rival,"  replied  the 
witch,  "  but  I  like  beat  those  draughts  which  are  most 
bitter  and  not  less  sur  3."  ♦      * 


59« 


THE  ClilEN  UtOR. 


'*  The  lady  of  Bcaumanoir  will  not  be  harder  tc  kill 
than  Louise  Gauthier  !  "  replied  An^diique,  watching  the 
glitter  of  the  vial  in  the  lamplight.  "  She  is  unknown  even 
to  the  servants  of  the  Chutcau,  nor  will  the  Intendant  him< 
self  dare  to  make  public  either  her  life  or  death  in  his 
house." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Mademoiselle,  that  the  Intendant  will 
not  dare  to  make  public  the  death  of  that  woman  in  the 
Chftteau?"  asked  La  Corriveau,  with  i?Uense  eagerness . 
the  consideration  was  an  important  link  of  the  chain 
which  she  was  forginj;. 

"  Sure  ?  yes,  1  am  sure  by  a  hundred  tokens ! "  said 
Angdlique,  with  an  air  of  triumph.  "  He  dare  not  even 
banish  her  for  my  sake,  lest  the  secret  of  her  concealmciL 
at  Beaumanoir  become  known.  We  can  safely  r*  -,k  '  i;; 
displeasure  even  should  he  suspect  that  I  have-  cut  ihc 
knot  he  knew  not  how  to  untie."  • ,, 

"  You  are  a  bold  girl !"  exclaimed  La  Cortiv..au,  look- 
ing on  her  admiringly,  "you  are  wonhy  to  wear  the 
crown  of  Cleopatra,  the  queen  of  all  the  gypsies  and  en- 
chantresses, I  shall  have  less  fear  now  to  do  your  bidding, 
for  you  have  a  stronger  spirit  than  mine  to  support  you." 

"  'Tis  well,  La  Corriveau  !  Let  this  vial  of  Brinvilliers 
bring  me  the  good  fortune  I  crave,  and  I  will  fill  your  lap 
with  gold.  If  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  shall  find  death  in 
a  bouquet  of  f^o^vers,  let  them  be  roses  !  " 

"  But  hov  and  where  to  find  roses  ?  they  have  ceased 
blooming,"  said  La  Corriveau,  hating  Angdlique's  sen- 
timent, and  glad  to  find  an  objection  to  it.  ;    ., 

"  Not  for  her.  La  Corriveau,  fate  is  kinder  than  you 
think !  "  Angelique  threw  back  a  rich  curtain  and  disclosed 
a  recess  filled  with  pots  of  blooming  roses  and  flowers  of 
various  hues.  "  The  roses  are  blooming  here  which  will 
form  the  bouquet  of  Beaumanoir."  ^ 

"  You  are  of  rare  ingenuity,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  La 
Corriveau,  admiringly,  "if  S..l.  .1  prompts  you  not,  H  is 
because  he  can  teach  you  nr  iMngci  '>ier  in  1  vj  or  strata- 
gem." 

"  Love  !"  replied  Angdlique  quickly,  "  do  hot  name 
that !  no !  I  have  sacrificed  all  love,  or  I  should  not  be 
taking  counsel  of  La  Corriveau  I  " 

An^^lique's  thoughts  flashed  back  upon  Le  Gardeur 
ior  onf!  regretful  moment.     "  No,  it  is  not  love,"  continued 


''FLASKETS  OF  D,iU :S,  A^C* 


3IK 


tu 


she,  "  but  the  duplicity  of  a  man  before  whom  I  have  1owe^ 
ed  my  pride.  It  is  the  vengeance  I  have  vowed  upon  a 
woman,  for  whose  sake  I  am  trifled  with  I  It  is  that 
prompts  me  to  this  deed  I  But  no  matter,  shut  up  the 
cask'-t,  La  Corriveau,  we  will  talk  now  of  how  and  when 
this  ihin^^  is  to  be  done." 

Che  witch  sif.ut  up  her  infernal  casket  of  ebony,  leaving 
the  vial  of  Brinvillicrs  shining  like  a  ruby  in  the  lamplight 
';p«jii  the  poiislicd  table. 

The  two  women  »a^  down,  their  foreheads  almost 
touching  together,  with  then  eyes  Hashing* in  lurid  sym- 
pathy as  they  eagerly  discussed  the  position  of  Hings  in 
the  Chilteau.  The  apartments  of  Caroline,  the  ours  oi 
rest  and  activity  were  all  woil  known  to  Arijj<fliq«  who 
had  adroitly  fished  out  every  fact  from  the  uosusp^  ung 
Fanchon  Dodier,  as  had  also  La  Corrive.iu. 

^  It  was  known  to  Ang^lique  that  the  Intenda  c  W(  ild 
be  absent  from  the  city  for  some  days  in  c  nseqi  nee  of 
the  news  from  France.  The  unfortunate  Caiolinevsou Id  ^ 
deprived  of  the  protection  of  his  vigilant  eye. 

The  two  women  sat  long  arranging  and  plannin  icir 
diabolical  scheme.  There  nms  no  smile  upon  the  cl  k  of 
Angdlique  now.  Her  dimples  which  drove  men  t\\a>  lad 
disappeared.  Her  lips,  made  to  distil  words  sweeter  an 
honey  of  Hybla,  were  now  d  awn  together  in  hard  les 
like  La  Corriveau's ;  they  were  cruel  and  untouched  a 
single  trace  of  mercy. 

Her  golden  hair  swept  loosely  over  her  white  robe.  It 
might  have  served  for  the  adornment  of  an  angel;  in  tue 
intensity  of  her  feelings  it  seen  led  to  curl  like  the  fabkd 
snakes  on  the  head  of  Megaera.  Her  face  under  the  Id- 
fluence  of  diabolical  thoughts  seemed  to  put  on  the 
likeness,  the  very  features  of  La  Corriveau.  As  their  eyes 
met  while  contriving  their  wicketi  scheme,  each  saw  her- 
self reflected  in  the  face  of  the  otht  r. 

.  The  hours  struck  unheeded  on  the  clock  in  the  room, 
as  it  ticked  '.ouder  and  louder  like  a  conscious  monitor 
beside  them  Its  slow  finger  had  marked  each  wicked 
thought  and  recorded  for  all  time  each  murderous  word  as 
it  passed  their  cruel  1  ps. 

La  Corriveau  held  the  casket  in  her  lap  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction,  and  sat  with  eyes  fixed  on  Angdlique,  who 
was  now  silent,  vji-   ..it   -     ^ .  .    't 


394 


THE  CHIEN  UOR, 


i\ 


"  Water  the  roses  weCl,  Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "In 
three  days  I  shall  be  here  for  a  bouquet,  and  in  less  than 
thrice  three  days  I  promise  you  there  shall  be  a  dirge 
wng  for  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir. 

"  Only  let  it  be  done  soon  and  surely,  '  replied 
\ng^lique,  her  very  voice  grew  harsh,  "  but  talk  no  more 
)f  it,  your  voice  sounds  like  a  cry  from  a  dark  gallery  that 
icads  to  hell !  Would  it  were  done  !  I  could  then  shut  up 
•  he  memory  of  it  in  a  tomb  of  silence,  for  ever,  for  ever  I 
and  wash  my  hands  of  a  deed  done  by  you,  not  me ! " 

"  A  deed  'done  by  you,  not  me !"  she  repeated  the 
\vords,  as  if  repeating  them  made  them  true.  She  would 
shut  up  the  memory  of  her  crime  for  ever  ;  she  reflected 
not  that  the  guilt  is  in  the  evil  intent,  and  the  sin  the  same 
before  God  even  if  the  deed  be  never  done. 

Angdlique  was  already  an  eager  sophist.  She  knew 
better  than  the  wretched  creature  whom  she  had  bribed 
with  money,  how  intensely  wicked  was  the  thing  she  was 
tempting  her  to  do,  but  her  jealousy  maddened  her, 
and  her  ambition  could  not  let  her  halt  in  her  course. 

There  was  one  thought  which  still  tormented  her: 
"  What  would  the  Intendant  think  ?  What  would  he  say 
should  he  suspect  her  of  the  murder  of  Caroline  ? "  She 
feared  his  scrutinizing  investigation,  but  trusting  in  her 
power,  she  risked  his  suspicions,  nay,  remembering  his 
words,  made  him  in  her  own  mind  an  accessory  in  the  mur- 
der. 

If  she  remembered  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  at  all  at 
this  moment,  it  was  only  to  strangle  the  thought  of  him. 
She  shied  like  a  horse  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  when  the 
thought  of  Le  Gardeur  intruded  itself.  Rising  suddenly 
she  bade  La  Corriveau  be  gone  about  her  business  lest  she 
should  be  tempted  to  change  her  mind. 

La  Corriveau  laughed  at  the  last  struggle  of  dying  con- 
science, and  bade  Ang^lique  go  to  bed.  "  It  was  two  hours 
past  midnight,  and  she  would  bid  Fanchon  let  her  depart 
to  the  house  of  an  old  crone  in  the  city  who  would  give 
her  a  bed  and  a  blessing  in  the  Devil's  name." 

Angdlique,  weary  and  agitated,  bade  her  begone  in  the 
Devil's  name  if  she  preferred  a  curse  to  a  blessing.  The 
witch  with  a  mocking  laugh,  rose  and  took  her  departure 
for  the  night. 

Fanchon,  weary  of  waiting,  had  fallen  asleep.      She 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OP  A  UE, 


395 


roused  herself,  offering  to  accompany  her  aunt  in  hopes  of 
learning  something  of  her  interview  with  her  mistress. 
All  she  got  was  a  whisper  that  the  jewels  were  found.  La 
Corriveau  passed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  plodded  her 
way  to  the  house  of  her  friend,  where  she  resolved  to  stay 
until  she  accomplished  the  secret  and  cruel  deed  she  haa 
undertaken  to  perform. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE   BROAD   BLACK   GATEWAY   OF   A   LIE. 


Hi 


in  the 

The 

Darture 

She 


The  Count  de  la  Galissonnibre  was  seated  in  his  cabinet 
a  week  after  the  arrival  of  La  Corriveau  on  her  fatal 
errand.  It  was  a  plain,  comfortable  apartment  he  sat  in, 
hung  with  arras  and  adorned  with  maps  and  pictures.  It 
was  there  he  held  his  daily  sittings  for  the  ordinary  despatch 
of  business  with  a  few  such  councillors  as  the  occasion 
required  to  be  present.  -    ^^^ 

The  table  was  loaded  with  letters,  memorandums  and 
bundles  of  papers  tied  up  in  official  style.  Despatches 
of  royal  ministers,  bearing  the  broad  seal  of  France. 
Reports  from  officers  of  posts  far  and  near  in  New  France 
lay  mingled  together  with  silvery  strips  of  the  inner  bark 
of  the  birch,  painted  with  hieroglyphics,  giving  accounts  of 
war  parties  on  the  Eastern  frontier  and  in  the  far  West, 
signed  by  the  totems  of  Indian  chiefs  in  alliance  with 
France.  There  was  a  newly  arrived  parcel  of  letters  from 
the  bold,  enterprising  Sieur  de  Verendrye,  who  was  ex- 
ploring the  distant  waters  of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  the 
land  of  the  Blackfeet,  and  many  a  missive  from  mission- 
iries,  giving  account  of  wild  regions  which  remain  yet 
almost  a  terra  incognita  to  the  government  which  rules 
over  them. 

The  Governor's  Bureau  in  the  Castle  of  St.  louis  was 
not  an  idle,  empty  chamber  in  those  days.  It  was  filled 
with  the  spirits  of  ambition,  conquest  and  war.  From  it  as 
from  the  cave  of  Eolus,  went  forth  storms  and  tempests, 
which  shook  the  continent  and  carried  the  commands  oi 


39« 


THE  CHIEN  n*OR, 


Onontio,  the  Governor,  to  the  Indian  nations  of  the  fartk 
est  regions  of  North  America. 

At  the  Governor's  elbow  sat  his  friend  Bishop  Pont- 
briand  with  a  secretary  immersed  in  papers.  In  front  of  him 
was  the  Intendant  with  Varin,  Penisault  and  d'Estebe.  On 
one  side  of  the  table,  La  Corne  St.  Luc  was  examining 
some  Indian  despatches  with  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil,  Claude 
Beauharnois,  and  the  venerable  Abb^  Piquet,  overT 
looking  with  deep  interest  the  rude  pictorial  dispatches  w 
the  hands  of  La  Corne.  Two  gentlemen  of  the  law  in 
furred  gowns  and  bands  stood  waiting  at  one  end  of  the 
room  with  books  under  their  arms  and  budgets  of  papers 
in  their  liands  ready  to  argue  before  the  council  some 
knotty  point  of  controversy  arising  out  of  the  concession 
of  certain  fiefs  and  jurisdictions  granted  under  the  Feudal 
laws  of  the  colony. 

The  Intendant,  although  personally  at  variance  with 
several  of  the  gentlemen  sitting  at  the  council  table,  did 
not  let  that  fact  be  visible  in  his  countenance,  nor  allow  it 
to  interfere  with  the  despatch  of  public  business.    :'/^   ;    i* 

The  Intendant  was  gay  and  easy  to-day  as  was  his 
wont,  wholly  unsuspecting  the  foul  treason  that  was  plot- 
ting by  the  woman  he  admired,  against  the  woman  he 
loved.  His  opinions  were  sometimes  loftily  expressed,  but 
always  courteously  as  well  as  firmly. 

Bigot  never  drooped  a  feather  in  face  of  his  enemies 
public  or  private,  but  laughed  and  jested  with  all  at  table 
in  the  exuberance  of  a  spirit  which  cared  for  no  one, 
and  only  reined  itself  in  when  it  was  politic  to  flatter  his 
patrons  and  patronesses  at  Versailles. 

In  an  inner  apartment,  whose  walls  were  covered  with 
tiers  of  bookTs,  forming  the  private  library  of  the  Gover- 
nor, might  be  seen  through  a  half  open  door  the  portly 
form  and  large  flaxen  head  of  Peter  Kalm. 

The  enthusiastic  investigator  of  science  sat  by  himself 
at  a  table  entrenched  behind  a  wall  of  volumes  which  he 
had  taken  down  from  their  shelves,  and  continued  to  pile 
up  on  the  table  before  him  as  he  consulted  them.  His 
broad,  florid  face  was  largely  visible,  like  a  full  moor  peer- 
ing over  the  edge  of  an  eastern  hill.         *  '  \     • 

The  business  of  the  council  had  begun.  The  mass  of 
papers  which  la,y  at  the  left  hand  of  the  Governor,  were 
opened  and  read  seriatim  by  his  Secretary,  and  debated, 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  UE, 


397 


»s. 


referred,  decided  upon,  or  judgment  postponed,  as  the  case 
seemed  best  to  the  Council. 

The  Count  was  a  man  of  method  and  despatch,  cleat 
headed  and  singularly  free  from  prejudice,  ambiguity  or 
hesitation.  He  was  honest  and  frank  in  council  as  he  was 
gallant  on  the  quarter  deck.  The  Intendant  was  not  a 
whit  behind  him  in  point  of  ability  and  knowledge  of  the 
political  affairs  of  the  colony,  and  surpassed  him  in  influ« 
ence  at  the  court  of  Louis  XV.  but  less  frank,  for  he  had 
much  to  conceal,  and  kept  authority  in  his  own  hands  as 
far  as  he  was  able. 

Disliking  each  other  profoundly  from  the  total  diverg- 
ence of  their  characters,  opinions  and  habits,  the  Governor 
and  Intendant  still  met  courteously  at  the  council  table, 
and  not  without  a  certain  respect  for  the  rare  talents  which 
each  recognized  in  the  other. 

Many  of  the  papers  lying  before  them  were  on  subjects' 
relating  to  the  internal  administration  of  the  colony. 
Petitions  of  the  people  suffering  from  the  exactions  of  the 
commissaries  of  the  army,  remonstrances  against  the 
late  decrees  of  the  Intendant,  and  arrets  of  the  high 
court  of  justice  confirming  the  right  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany to  exercise  certain  new  monopolies  of  trade. 

The  discussions  were  earnest  and  sometimes  warm  on 
these  important  questions.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  assailed 
the  new  regulations  of  the  Intendant,  in  no  measured 
terms  of  denunciation,  in  which  he  was  supported  by 
Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  and  the  Chevalier  de  Beauharnois. 
But  Bigot,  without  condescending  to  the  trouble  of  defend- 
ing the  ordinances  on  any  sound  principle  of  public  policy, 
which  he  knew  to  be  useless  and  impossible  with  the  clev- 
er men  sitting  at  the  table,  contented  himself  with  a  cold 
smile  at  the  honest  warmth  of  La  Come  St.  Luc,  and 
simply  bade  his  Secretary  read  the  orders  and  despatches 
from  Versailles,  in  the  name  of  the  Royal  Ministers,  and 
approved  of  by  the  King  himself  in  a  lit  de  justice  which 
had  justified  every  act  done  by  him  in  favor  of  the  Grand 
Company. 

The  Governor,  trammelled  on  all  sides  by  the  powers, 
conferred  upon  the  Intendant,  felt  unable  to  exercise  the 
authority  he  needed,  to  vindicate  the  cause  of  right  and 
justice  in  the  colony.  His  own  instructions  confirmed  the 
pretensions  of  the  Intendant,  and  of  the  Grand  Company. 


■"•i- 


'S:'-^ 


398 


rut:  cnihK  D'oft. 


h  ir 


,;^i 


^1 


! 


The  utmost  he  could  do  in  behalf  of  the  true  interests  of 
the  people  and  of  the  King,  as  opposed  to  the  herd  ol 
greedy  courtiers  and  selfish  beauties  who  surrounded  him. 
was  to  soften  the  deadening  blows  they  dealt  upon  the 
trade  and  resources  of  the  colony.  «  «* 

A  decree  authorizing  the  issue  of  an  unlimited  quantity 
of  paper  bills,  the  predecessors  of  the  assignats  of  the 
Mother  Countr)*,  was  strongly  advocated  by  Bigot,  who 
supported  his  views  with  a  degree  of  financial  sophistry 
which  showed  that  he  had  effectively  mastered  the  science 
of  delusion  and  fraud  of  which  Law  had  been  the  great 
teacher  in  France,  and  the  Mississippi  scheme,  the  proto- 
type of  the  Grand  Company,  the  great  exemplar. 

La  Come  St.  Luc  opposed  the  measure  forcibly. 
"  He  wanted  no  paper  lies,"  he  said,  "  to  cheat  the  hus- 
bandman of  his  corn  and  the  laborer  of  his  hire.  If  the 
gold  and  silver  had  all  to  be  sent  to  France  to  pamper  the 
luxuries  of  a  swarm  of  idlers  at  the  court,  they  could 
buy  and  sell  as  they  had  done  in  the  early  days  of  the  col- 
ony, with  beaver  skins  for  livres,  and  musk-rat  skins  for 
sous.  "  These  paper  bills, "  continued  he,  **  had  been  tried  on 
a  small  scale  by  the  Intendant  Hoquart,  and  on  a  small 
scale  had  robbed  and  impoverished  the  colony.  If  this 
new  Mississippi  scheme  propounded  by  new  Laws  ; "  and 
here  La  Corne  glanced  boldly  at  the  Intendant,  "  is  to  be 
enforced  on  the  scale  proposed,  there  will  not  be  left  in  the 
colony-  one  piece  of  silver  to  rub  against  another.  It  will 
totally  beggar  New-France,  and  may  in  the  end  bankrupt 
the  royal  treasury  of  France  itself  if  called  on  to  redeem 
them."     ;, 

"  Promise  is  not  pay !  "  exclaimed  the  old  soldier, 
"  just  as  hunger  is  not  meat !  He  would  trust  no  man,  he 
would  riot  trust  himself,  "  he  added  pareuchetically,  "  with 
the  pcwer  of  making  money  out  of  rags,  and  of  circulating 
lies  for  livres.  The  honest  habitans  knew  the  value  of 
beaver  skins  in  barter  for  their  corn,  but  they  knew  no 
value  that  could  be  fixed  on  scraps  of  paper  which  might 
be  as  plentiful  and  would  be  as  worthless  as  the  leaves  of 
the  forest ! " 

The  discussion  rolled  on  for  an  hour.  The  Count  lis* 
tened  in  silent  approbation  to  the  arguments  of  the  gentle- 
men opposing  the  measure,  but  he  had  received  private  im- 
perative instructions  from  ;he  king  to  aid  the  Intendant  ic 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE, 


399 


the  issue  ot  the  new  paper  money.  The  Count  reluctantly 
sanctioned  a  decree,  which  filled  New-France  with  worthless 
assignats,  the  non-redemption  of  which  completed  the 
misery  of  the  colony  and  aided  materially  in  its  final  sub 
jugation  by  the  English. 

The  pile  of  papers  upon  the  table  gradually  diminished 
as  they  were  opened  and  disposed  of.  The  council  itself 
was  getting  weary  of  a  long  sitting  and  showed  an  evident 
wish  for  its  adjournment.  The  gentleman  of  the  law  did 
not  get  a  hearing  of  their  case  that  day  but  were  well  con- 
tent to  have  it  postponed,  because  a  postponement  meant 
new  fees  and  increased  costs  for  their  clients.  The  law- 
yers of  old  France,  whom  LaFontaine  depicts  in  his  lively 
fable  as  swallowing  the  oyster  and  handing  to  each 
litigant  an  empty  shell,  did  not  differ  in  any  essential  point 
from  their  brothers  of  the  long  robe  in  New-France,  and 
differed  nothing  at  all  in  the  length  of  their  bills,  and  the 
sharpness  of  their  practice. 

The  breaking  up  of  the  council  was  deferred  by  the 
secretary  opening  a  package  sealed  with  the  royal  seal  and 
which  contained  other  sealed  papers  marked  special  for  his 
Excellency  the  Governor.  The  secretary  handed  them  to  the 
Count  who  read  over  the  contents  with  deep  interest  and  a 
changing  countenance.  He  laid  them  down  and  took 
them  up  again,  perused  them  a  second  time  and  passed 
them  over  to  the  Intendant,  who  read  them  with  a  start  of 
surprise,  and  a  sudden  frown  on  his  dark  eyebrows.  But  he 
instantly  suppressed,  it,  biting  his  nether  lip,  however,  with 
anger  which  he  could  not  wholly  conceal. 

He  pushed  the  papers  back  to  the  Count  with  a  non- 
chalant air,  as  of  a  man  who  had  quite  made  up  his  mind 
about  them,  saying  in  a  careless  manner. 

"  The  commands  of  Madame  La  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour shall  be  complied  with,"  said  he,  "  I  will  order  strict 
search  to  be  made  for  the  missing  Demoiselle,  who  I  sus- 
pect will  he  found  in  some  camp  or  fort,  sharing  the  couch 
of  some  lively  fellow,  wl  o  has  won  favor  in  her  bright 
eyes." 

Bigot  saw  danger  in  these  despatches  and  in  the  look 
of  the  Governor  who  would  be  sure  to  exercise  the 
utmost  diligence  in  carrying  out  the  commands  of  the 
court  in  thir  matter. 

Bigot  for  a  few  moments  seemed  lost  in  icfiection.     He 


i  ■ 


400 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR, 


looked  round  the  table,and  seeing  many  eyes  fixed  j|x>n  hin 
spoke  boldly  almost  with  a  tone  of  defiance. 

*'  Pray  ex).lain  to  the  councillors  the  nature  of  this  des< 
patch,  your  Excellency  I  said  he  to  the  Count,  "  What  it 
contains  is  not  surprising  to  any  one  who  knows  the  fickle 
sex,  and  no  gentleman  can  avoid  feeling  for  the  noble 
Baron  de  St.  Castin  !  "  ;   .><> 

"  And  for  his  daughter  too,  Chevalier  I "  replied  ihe  gov- 
ernor. "It  is  only  through  their  virtues  that  such  women 
are  lost.  But  it  is  the  strangest  tale  I  have  heard  in  New* 
France!" 

The  gentlemen  seated  at  the  table  looked  at  the  gov- 
ernor in  some  surprise.  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  hearing  the  name 
of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  exclaimed !  "  What  in  God's 
name,  your  Excellency,  what  is  there  in  that  despatch  affec- 
ting my  old  friend  and  companion  in  arms,  the  Baron  de 
St.  Castin  .? " 

"  I  had  better  explain,"  replied  the  Count :  "  It  is  no 
secret  in  France   and  will  not  long  be  a  secret  here." 

"  This  letter,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  addressing  the 
Councillors  and  holding  it  open  in  his  hand,  "  is  a  pathet- 
ic appeal  from  the  Baron  De  St.  Castin,  whom  you  all 
know,  urging  me  by  every  consideration  of  friendship,  hon- 
or and  public  duty,  to  aid  in  finding  his  daughter,  Caroline 
de  St.  Castin,  who  has  been  abducted  from  her  home  in 
Acadia,  and  who  after  a  long  and  vain  search  for  her  by 
her  father  in  France,  where  it  was  thought  she  might  have 
gone,  has  been  traced  to  this  colony,  yhere  it  is  said  she 
is  living  concealed  under  some  strange  alias,  or  low 
disguise. 

"  The  other  despatch,"  continued  the  governor,  "  is  from 
the  Marquise  de  Pompadour,  affirming  the  same  thing, 
and  commanding  the  most  rigorous  search  to  be  made  foi 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Castin.  In  language  hardly  official, 
the  Marquise  threatens  to  make  Stock-fish,  that  is  her 
phrase,  of  whosoever  has  had  a  hand  in  either  the  abduc- 
tion or  the  concealment  of  the  missing  lady." 

The  attention  of  every  gentleman  at  the  table  was 
roused  by  the  words  of  the  Count.  But  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  could  not  repress  his  feelings.  He  sprang  up,  striking 
the  table  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  until  it  sounded  like  the 
shot  of  a  petronel. 

"  By  St.  Christopher  the   Strong  1 "   exclauned  he,  "  J 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  UE. 


401 


would  cheerfully  have  lost  a  limb  rather  than  heard  such 
a  tale  told  by  my  dear  old  friend  and  comrade,  about  that 
angelic  child  of  his,  whom  I  have  carried  in  my  arms  like 
a  lamb  of  God,  many  and  many  a  time  !" 

**  You  know,  gentlemen,  what  befel  her  I  "  the  old 
soldier  looked  as  if  he  could  annihilate  the  Intendant 
with  the  lightning  of  his  eyes.  "  I  affirm  and  will  main- 
lain  that  no  Saint  in  Heaven  was  holier  in  her  purity,  than 
she  was  in  her  fall !  Chevalier  Bigot,  it  is  for  you  to  answer 
these  despatches  !  This  is  your  work  !  If  Caroline  de 
St.  Castin  be  lost,  you  know  where  to  find  her  !  " 

Bigot  started  up  in  a  rage  mingled  with  fear,  not  of 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  but  lest  the  secret  of  Caroline's  con- 
cealment at  Beaumanoir  should  become  known.  The  furi- 
ous letter  of  La  Pompadour  repressed  the  prompting  of  his 
audacious  spirit  to  acknowledge  the  deed  openly  and  defy 
the  consequences  ;  as  he  would  have  done  at  any  less 
price  than  the  loss  of  the  favor  of  his  powerful  and  jealous 
patroness.  :    , 

The  broad  black  gate-way  of  a  lie  stood  open  to  receive 
him,  and  angry  as  he  was  at  the  words  of  St.  Luc,  Bigot 
took  refuge  in  it — and  lied. 

"  Chevalier  La  Corne  !  "  said  he,  with  a  tremendous 
effort  at  self  control.  "  I  do  not  affect  to  misunderstand 
your  words,  and  in  time  and  place  will  make  you  account 
for  them  !  iDut  I  will  say  for  the  contentment  of  His  Excel- 
lency and  of  the  other  gentlemen  at  the  council  table,  that 
whatever  in  times  past  have  been  my  relations  with  the 
daughter  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  and  I  do  not  deny 
having  shown  her  many  courtesies,  her  abduction  was 
not  my  work,  and  if  she  be  lost,  I  do  not  know  where  to 
find  her!"  '  .    r      : 

"Upon  your  word  as  a  gentleman  "  interrogated  the 
Governor,  *'  will  you  declare  you  know  not  where  she  is  to 
be  found  ? " 

"  Upon  my  word  as  a  gentleman  I "  The  Intendant's 

face  was  suffused  with  passion.     "  You  have  no  right  to 

ask  that !   neither  shall  you,  Count  de  La  Galissonifere ! 

But  I  will  myself  answer  the   despatch   of  Madame   la 

Marquise  de  Pompadour !    I  know  no  more,  perhaps  less, 

than  yourself  or  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  where  to 

look  for  the  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin ;  and  I 

proclaim  here  that  I  am  ready  to  cross  swords  with  the  first 

36 


40f 


THE  CHIEtr  lyoR, 


.    ^ 


il'f 


gentleman  who  shall  dare  breathe  a  syllable  ?(  doubt 
against  the  word  of  Francois  Bigot  1 " 

Varin  and  Penisault  exchanged  a  rapid  glance,  partly 
of  doubt,  partly  of  surprise.  They  knew  well,  for  Bigoi 
had  not  concealed  from  his  intimate  associates,  the  fact 
that  a  strange  lady,  whose  name  they  Ii.id  not  heard,  was 
living  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  Chateau  of  Bej.  imanoir. 
Bigot  never  told  any  who  she  was,  or  whence  she  came. 
Whatever  suspicion  they  might  entertain  in  their  own 
minds,  they  were  too  wary  to  express  it.  On  the  contrary, 
Varin,  ever  more  ready  with  a  lie  than  Bigot,  confirmed  with 
a  loud  oath  the  statement  of  the  Intendant. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  looked  like  a  baffled  lion  as  Rigaud 
de  Vaudreuil,  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  friend  laid  his 
hand  over  his  mouth,  and  would  not  let  him  speak.  Rigaud 
feared  the  coming  challenge  and  whispered  audibly  in  the 
ear  of  St.  Luc. 

"  Count  a  hundred  before  you  speak.  La  Corne  1  The 
Intendant  is  to  be  taken  on  his  word  just  at  present,  like 
any  other  gentleman  I  Fight  for  fact,  not  for  fancy  I  Be 
prudent.  La  Corne  !  we  know  nothing  to  the  contrary  of 
what  Bigot  swears  to  I" 

"  But  I  doubt  much  to  the  contrary,  Rigaud !  "  replied 
La  Corne,  with  accent  of  scorn  and  incredulity. 

The  old  soldier  chafed  hard  under  the  bit,  but  his 
suspicions  were  not  facts.  He  felt  that  he  had  no  solid 
grounds  upon  which  to  accuse  the  Intendant  in  the  special 
matter  referred  to  in  the  letters.  He  was,  moreover, 
although  hot  in  temperament,  soon  master  of  himself  and 
used  to  the  hardest  discipline  of  self  control. 

"  I  was  perhaps  over  hasty,  Rigaud !  "  replied  La 
Corne  St.  Luc,  recovering  his  composure ;  "  but  when  I 
think  of  Bigot  in  the  past,  how  can  I  but  mistrust  him  in 
the  present.  However,  be  the  girl  above  ground  or  under 
ground,  I  will,  par  Dieu^  not  leave  a  stone  unturned  in  New 
France  until  I  find  the  lost  child  of  my  old  friend !  La 
Corne  St.  Luc  pledges  himself  to  that,  and  he  never  broke 
his  word !  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  audibly,  and  looked  hard  at 
the  Intendant.  Bigot  cursed  him  twenty  times  over 
between  his  teeth,  for  he  knew  La  Corne's  indomitable 
energy  and  sagacity,  that  was  never  at  fault  in  finding  oi 
forcing  a  way  to  whatever  he  was  in  search  of.     It  would 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  CA  TEH^A  Y  OF  A  LIS. 


403 


Aot  be  long  before  he  would  discover  the  presence  ci  a 
strange  lady  at  Beaumanoir,  thought  Bigot,  and  Just  as 
certain  wouid  he  be  to  find  out  that  she  was  the  lost 
daughter  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin. 

The  good  Bishop  r  >se  up  when  the  dispute  waxed 
warmest  between  the  Intendant  and  La  Come  St.  Luc. 
His  heart  was  eager  to  allay  t.  strife ;  but  his  shrewd 
knowledge  of  human  nature  and  manifold  experience  of  i 
human  quarrels,  taught  him  that  between  two  such  men 
the  intercession  of  a  Priest  would  not  at  that  moment  be  of 
any  avail.  Their  own  notions  of  honor  and  self  respect, 
would  alone  be  able  to  restrain  them  from  rushing  into 
unseemly  excesses  of  language  and  act;  so  the  good 
Bishop  stood  with  folded  arms  looking  on  and  silently 
praying  for  an  opportunity  to  remind  them  of  the  seventh  - 
holy  beatitude,  "  Beati  Pacificil'' 

Bigot  felt  acutely  the  difficulty  of  the  position  he  had 
been  placed  in  by  the  act  of  La  Pompadour,  in  sending  her 
despatch  to  the  Governor  instead  of  to  himself.  "  Why 
had  she  done  that  ? "  said  he  savagely  to  himself.  "  Had 
she  suspected  him  ? " 

Bigot  could  not  but  conclude,  that  La  Pompadour  sus- 
pected him  in  this  matter.  He  saw  clearly  that  she  would 
not  trust  the  search  after  this  girl  to  him,  because  she  knew 
that  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  had  formerly  drawn  aside  his 
heart,  and  that  he  would  have  married  her  but  for  the 
interference  of  the  Royal  Mistress.  Whatever  might  have 
been  done  before  in  the  way  of  sending  Caroline  back  to 
Acadia,  it  could  not  be  done  now,  after  he  had  boldly  lied 
before  the  Governor  and  the  honorable  Council, 

One  thing  seemed  absolutely  necessary,  however.  The 
presence  of  Caroline  at  Beaumanoir  must  be  kept  secret 
at  all  hazards — until — until — and  even  Bigot  for  once  was 
ashamed  of  the  thoughts  which  rushed  into  his  mind, 
— until — he  could  send  her  far  into  the  wilderness,  among 
savage  tribes  to  remain  there  until  the  search  for  her  was 
over  and  the  aflair  forgotten.  ■  ^ 

This  was  his  first  thought.  But  to  send  her  away  into 
the  wilderness,  was  not  easy.  A  matter  which  in  France 
would  excite  the  gossip  and  curiosity  of  a  league  or  two  of 
neighborhood,  would  be  carried  on  the  tongues  of  Indians 
and  voyageurs  in  the  wilds  of  North  America  for  thousands 
of  miles.    To  send  her  away  without  discovery  seemed 


4C4 


THE  CHI  EN  JX  OR. 


'&1 


C'H:   ij 


difficult.  To  retain  her  at  Beaumanoir  in  face  of  the  search 
which  he  knew  would  be  made  by  the  Governor  and  the 
indomitable  La  Come  St.  Luc,  was  impossible.  The 
quandary  oppressed  him.  He  saw  no  escape  from  the 
dUemma  ;  but  to  the  credit  of  Bigot  be  it  said,  that  not  for 
a  moment  did  he  entertain  a  thought  of  doing  injury  to 
the  hapless  Caroline,  or  of  taking  advantage  of  her  lonely 
condition  to  add  to  her  distress,  merely  to  save  himself. 

He  fell  into  a  train  of  sober  reflections  unusual  to  him 
at  any  time,  and  scarcely  paid  any  attention  to  the  discus- 
sion of  affairs  at  the  council  table  for  the  rest  of  the  sitting. 
He  rose  hastily  at  last,  despairing  to  find  any  outlet  of 
escape  from  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  him  in  this 
unlucky  affair. 

,  "With  His  Excellency's  consent,"  he  said,  "  they  would 
do  no  more  business  that  day.  He  was  tired  and  would  rise. 
Dinner  was  ready  at  the  palace  where  he  had  some  wine 
of  the  golden  plant  of  Ay-Ay,  wh'ch  he  would  match 
against  the  best  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  if  His  Excel- 
lency and  the  other  gentlemen  would  honor  him  with  their 
company." 

The  Council,  out  of  respect  to  the  Intendant,  rose  at 
once.  The  despatches  were  shoved  back  to  the  secre- 
taries, and  for  the  present  forgotten  in  a  buzz  of  lively 
conversation  in  which  no  man  shone  to  greater  advantage 
than  Bigot. 

"  It  is  but  a  fast  day,  your  Reverence  ! "  said  he,  ac- 
costing the  Abb4  Piquet,  but  if  you  will  come  and  say 
grace  over  my  graceless  table,  I  will  take  it  kindly  of  you. 
You  owe  me  a  visit,  you  know,  and  I  owe  you  thanks  for 
the  way  in  which  you  looked  reproof  without  speaking  it, 
upon  my  dispute  with  the  Chevalier  La  Corne.  It  was 
better  than  words,  and  showed  that  you  know  the  world 
we  live  in,  as  well  as  the  world  you  teach  us  to  live  for 
hereafter.       ..i.K.,.   -.^k    ■,.;•..-    .  .  I 

The  Abbd  bowed  low  to  the  invitation  of  the  Intendant. 
It  was  not  tempting  in  itself,  for  he  knew  by  report  what  a 
free  table  the  Intendant  kept,  but  the  politic  churchman 
had  objects  of  his  own  which  he  never  for  a  moment  lost 
sight  of.  He  was  one  who,  as  the  proverb  says :  would 
have  dined  with  Satan  for  God's  sake  and  a  sinner's." 

"  Thanks,  your  Excellency !  "  said  he,  smiling,  "  I  have 
travelled  uninvited,  on  snow-shoes,  a  hundred    leagues 


THE  BROAD 


Gdl  n  WA  Y  OF  A  UE. 


e,  ac- 
id say 
you. 
iks  for 
ng  it, 
t  was 
world 
e  for 

luanl. 

rhat  a 
:hman 
ht  lost 
I  would 

• 

have 
;agues 


through  the  wildernes5Ho  chn^Men  oi  -.olve  a  poor  Im^i^n. 
I  cannot  refuse  to  go  a  milt  ">  say  gi  ce  ove  sowx  gt  ice- 
less  table,  as  you  please  to  call  it!  i  try  >  ^^  lik<  qi3f 
master,  St.  Paul,  all  things  to  all  men,  and  1  x\\  fin  ay- 
self,  I  dare  say,  as  much  a',  home  in  the  Pal  cc  at  ir.  'he 
wigwam." 

"That  is  right  well  spoken,  AbW  1  I  like  you  mission- 
aries I  Your  cold  feet  carry  warm  hearts  I  You  shall  be 
welcome  at  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant  as  you  are  in  the 
wigwam  of  the  savage.  Besides,  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
on  the  subject  of  that  settlement  you  project  at  La 
Presentation."  ,        ••   .  "v/ 

"  The  main  reason  for  which  I  accepted  your  invitation. 
Chevalier  I  It  is  the  one  great  thing  upon  my  heart  just 
now  as  a  minister  of  God  to  my  fellow-men." 

"  Well,  if  I  cannot  imitate  you,  I  can  admire  you,  Abb^  I 
and  I  promise  you  a  clean  table-cloth  and  full  opportunity 
to  convince  the  Intendant  of  the  goodness  of  your  scheme 
for  bringing  the  proud  Iroquois  under  the  dominion  of  the 
King,"  replied  Bigot,  heartily,  and  honestly,  too,  in  this 
matter. 

The  Abb4  was  charmed  with  the  affability  of  Bigot  and 
nourishing  some  hope  of  enlisting  him  heartily  in  behalf  of 
his  favorite  scheme  of  Indian  policy,  left  the  Castle  in  his 
company.  The  Intendant  also  invited  the  Procureur  du 
Roy  and  the  other  gentleman  of  the  law  who  found  it  both 
politic,  profitable  and  pleasant  to  dine  at  the  bountiful  and 
splendid  table  of  the  Palace. 

The  Governor  with  three  or  four  most  intimate  friends, 
the  Bishop,  La  Corne  St  Luc,  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  and 
the  Chevalier  de  Beauharnois,  remained  in  the  room,  con- 
versing earnestly  together  on  the  affair  of  Caroline  de  St. 
Castin,  which  awoke  in  all  of  them  a  feeling  of  deepest 
pity  for  the  young  lady  and  of  sympathy  for  the  distress  of 
her  father.  They  were  lost  in  conjectures  as  to  the  quarter 
'n  which  a  search  for  her  might  be  successful. 

"  There  is  not  a  fort,  camp,  house,  or  wigwam  ;  thtre 
is  not  a  hole  oi  hollow  tree  in  New  France  where  that  poor 
broken-hearted  girl  may  have  taken  refuge  or  been  hid  by 
her  seducer,  but  I  will  find  her  out,"  exclaimed  La  Corne 
St  Luc.  "  Poor  girl !  poor  haj  less  girl !  How  can  I  blame 
her  I  like  Magdelene,  if  she  sinned  much,  it  was  because 
she  loved  much  1  and  cursed  be  either  man  or  woman  who 
will  cast  a  stone  at  her  I " 


4o6 


THE  CHItN  DtQ  R. 


**  La  Come !  *'  replied  the  Governor,  "  the  spirit  of 
chivalry  will  not  wholly  pass  away  while  you  remain  to 
teach  by  your  example  the  duty  of  brave  men  to  fair 
women.  Stay  and  dine  with  me  and  we  will  consider  this 
matter  thoroughly  I  Nay,  I  will  not  have  an  excuse  to-day. 
My  old  friend,  Peter  Kalm,  will  dine  with  us  too,  he  is  a 
philosopher  as  perfectly  as  you  are  a  soldier  I  So  stay; 
and  we  will  have  something  better  than  tobacco  smoke  :c 
our  wine  to-day !  " 

"  The  tobacco  smoke  is  not  bad  either,  your  Excel- 
lency 1 "  replied  La  Come,  who  was  an  inveterate  smoker, 
"I  like  your  Swedish  friend.  He  cracks  nuts  of  wisdom 
with  such  a  grave  air  that  I  feel  like  a  boy  sitting  at  his 
feet  glad  to  pick  up  a  kernel  now  and  then.  My  practical 
philosophy  is  sometimes  at  fault,  to  be  sure,  in  trying  to  fit 
his  theories.  But  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  believe  many 
things  which  I  do  not  understand." 

*•  Well,  you  will  stay  then,  and  you  too,  Beauharnois 
and  Rigaud }  The  Abb^  Piquet  has  gone  to  say  grace  for 
the  Intendant,  but  the  Bishop  will  say  grace  over  our  table, 
we  will  have  a  feast  of  the  Gods !  Ambrosia  and  Nectar 
on  tables  set  upon  the  pinnacle  of  Olympus  ! " 

The  gentlemen  laughed  and  consented  to  dine  with  the 
hospitable  Governor,  who  called  to  his  friend,  Peter  Kalm, 
to  join  them. 

The  Philosopher,  immersed  in  his  study,  had  not  even 
heard  the  high  voices  of  La  Come  St.  Luc  and  the  Intend- 
ant through  the  half  open  door  of  the  library.  His  large 
flaxen  head  was  bobbing  up  and  down  as  he  bent  over  the 
volumes,  extracting  this  sentence  and  that,  which  he  duly 
and  carefully  copied  into  his  common-place  book  "  and 
salted  down  like  meat,"  he  said,  "  for  a  rainy  day  and  a 
long  winter."  '  • 

Kalm  heard  the  call  of  the  Governor,  however.  He 
rose  from  behind  his  entrenchment  of  books.  His  friend's 
well  known  voice  recalled  from  the  world  i)f  philosophy 
and  speculation,  to  the  world  of  actual  life  and  sociability. 
He  rejoined  the  governor  and  sat  down  at  the  table  with 
them 

"  Kalm  !  "  exclaimed  the  cheery  voice  of  the  Count, 
"  this  is  just  as  when  we  were  together  at  Upsal  in  the  good 
old  times  when  we  wore  the  student's  white  cap  with  black 
brim.     You  remember  how  the  lads  called  you  the  Engi 


THE  BROAU  BLACK  GAIEWA  Y  OF  A  UB. 


407 


oeer,  because  you  used  to  fcttify  your  |x>sitions  with  such 
ramparts  of  quotations  that  they  were  unassailable  ^  the 
walls  of  Midgard." 

"  Ah  I  Count !  "  said  he,  "  those  were  indeed  good 
times,  before  we  found  out  the  burthen  of  being  old  and 
wise  overmuch.  Ail  was  bright  before  us  then.  Nothing 
was  dark  behind.  Every  night  we  lay  happy  as  birds  in 
our  nests  with  God's  wings  brooding  over  us.  Eve'^ 
morning  was  a  new  revelation  of  light  and  knowledge,  of 
health,  youth  and  joy.  How  proud  young  Linnitus  was  of 
his  brother  giants  !  His  Jotuns,  as  he  called  us,  of  the  new 
philosophy  ;  and  we  thought  ourselves  eagles,  unfledged, 
ambitious  brood  that  we  were  1  You  have  not  forgotten 
our  Northern  speech,  Count  ? " 

"Forgotten  it,  no!    I   would  not  willingly  forget   itl 

Listen,  Kalm  I "    and  the  governor   repeated   with   good 

accent  the  verse  of  an  old  Swedish  ballad,  a  great  favorite 

once  among  the  students  at  Upsal : 

^  ■»  '■■■       :•  '>4* 
Swerigcs  man  akter  jag  att  lofva  •;  ^ 

Om  Gud,  vill  mig  nSder  gifva!  -'  '         t  '* 

'     Deras  dygd  framfbra  med  akt  och  hSg  •»   •  ^' V 

;  Den  stund  der  jag  rr5  lefval  ...        !,  ;? 


Swedish  men  I  mean  to  praise, 
God  stir  my  heart  withm  me  ! 

To  boast  their  truth  and  manly  ways 
So  long  as  life  is  in  me. 


"That  pril^es  it,  Kalm  1  "  continued  the  governor  en- 
thusiastically, "  I  love  both  the  old  Northern  land  and  its 
old  Northern  speec^,  which  is  only  fit  for  the  mouths  of 
frank  honest  men,  such  as  your  brave  Swedes.  What  sayi 
the  old  song  of  the  Goths  ?  " 

Allsmaktig  Gud,  han  hafver  them  wiss 

Som  Svcrige  aro  tro ! 
BSde  nu  ock  forro  forutan  all  twiss 

Gud  gifve  them  ro ! 
Svenske  man  I  I  sagen  !  Amen  I 

Som  I  Sveriges  rike  bo ! 

Almighty  God !  hold  firm  and  fast 

Thy  faithful  Swedes  I  .   rr 

Who  serve  their  country  first  and  last  .      .  , 

In  all  its  needs  I 
,    Amen!  Amen!  forever,  then,  "»• 

God  bless  the  I'nd  of  Swedish  men  I    •  . -ir« 


4oS 


THE  ClilEN  D'OR. 


The  eyes  of  Peter  Kalm  fi.led  with  moisture  and  hit 
breast  heaved  at  this  cordial  reference  to  his  far-off  home 
by  the  stormy  Baltic.  He  grasped  the  hand  of  his  friend. 
**  Thank  you,  Count !  thank  you,  Rolland  Michael  Barrin  I 
I  never  thought  to  hear  my  dear  old  country  so  kindly 
spoken  of  in  this  distant  land  1  Its  praise  is  all  the  more 
pleasing  as  coming  from  one  who  knows  it  so  well  and 
who  is  so  just  in  all  he  says  and  all  he  does  ! " 

"  Well,  never  mind  !  "  the  Count  shyed  off  ever  from  a 
compliment.  "  If  I  were  not  a  Frenchman  I  siiould  choose 
to  be  a  Swede  !  But  the  Castle  bell  is  ringing  to  let  the 
city  know  that  his  Excellency  the  Governor  is  going  to 
dinner  and  during  that  time  nobody  is  to' interrupt  him 
with  business !  Business  is  over  for  to-day,  Kalm !  I  have 
kept  my  friends  here  on  purpose  to  dine  with  you  and  eat 
and  drink  into  mutual  better  acquaintance." 

Kalm  was  delighted  with  his  friend's  cordial  manner 
and  with  the  mention  of  dinner,  for,  just  aroused  from  his 
books,  after  a  long  and  arduous  study  he  discovered  that 
he  had  a  nipping  appetite.  Like  all  wise  men,  Peter  Kalm 
was  a  hearty  eater  and  a  sound  drinker,  stinting  only  for 
health  and  sobriety's  sake.  He  had  fixed  his  pin  low 
down  in  the  tankard  of  enjoyment,  and  drank  cheerfully 
down  to  it,  thanking  God,  like  a  pious  Swede,  for  all  good 
things. 

The  Count  took  his  arm  familiarly  and  followed  by  the 
other  gentlemen  proceded  to  the  dining  lipll,  where  his 
table  was  spread  in  a  style  which,  if  less  luxurious  than  the 
Intendant's,  left  nothing  to  be  desired  by  guests  who  were 
content  with  plenty  of  good  cheer,  admirable  cooking,  ad 
roit  service  and  perfect  hospitality. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS  AND  MUCH  LEARNED  DUSl 

Dinner  at  the  table  of  the  Count  de  la  Gal  ssonibre  was 
not  a  dull  affair  of  mere  eating  and  drinking.  The  con- 
versation and  sprightliness  of  the  host  fed  the  minds  of  his 
guests  as  generously  as  his  bread  strengthened  their  hearts, 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


409 


;re  was 

^e  con- 

of  his 

Ihearts, 


or  his  wine,  in  the  Psalmist's  words,  made  their  faces  to 
shine.  Men  were  they,  every  one  of  them  possessed  of  a 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body  ;  and  both  were  well  feasted 
at  this  hospitable  table. 

The  dishes  were  despatched  in  a  leisurely  and  orderly 
manner,  as  became  men  who  knew  the  value  of  both  soul 
and  body,  and  sacrificed  neither  to  the  other.  When  the 
cloth  was  drawn,  and  the  wine  flasks  glittered  ruby  and  gol* 
den  upon  the  polished  board,  the  old  butler  came  in,  bearing 
upon  a  tray  a  large  silver  box  of  tobacco,  with  pipes  and 
stoppers,  and  a  wax  candle,  burning,  ready  to  light  them, 
as  then  the  fashion  was  in  companies  composed  exclusively 
of  gentlemen.  He  placed  the  materials  for  smoking  upon 
the  table,  as  reverently  as  a  priest  places  his  biretta  upon 
the  altar, — for  the  old  butler  did  himself  dearly  love  the 
Indian  weed,  and  delighted  to  smell  the  perfume  of  it,  as 
it  rose  in  clouds  over  his  master's  table. 

"This  is  a  bachelors'  banquet,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
Governor,  filling  a  pipe  to  the  brim.  "  We  will  take  fair 
advantage  of  the  absence  of  ladies  to-day  and  offer  incense 
to  the  good  Manitou  who  first  gave  tobacco  for  the  solace 
of  mankind." 

The  gentlemen  were  all,  as  it  chanced,  honest  smokers. 
Each  one  took  a  pipe  from  the  stand,  and  followed  the 
Governor's  example,  except  Peter  Kalm,  who  more  philo- 
sophically carried  his  pipe  with  him, — a  huge  meerschaum, 
clouded  like  a  sunset  on  the  Baltic.  He  filled  it  deliber- 
ately with  tobacco,  pressed  it  down  with  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  easy  chair,  after  lighting 
it,  began  to  blow  such  a  cloud  as  the  portly  Burgomaster 
of  Stockholm  might  have  envied  on  a  grand  council  night, 
in  the  old  Raadhus  of  the  city  of  the  Goths.       .     ! 

They  were  a  goodly  group  of  men,  whose  frank,  loyal 
eyes  looked  openly  at  ej^^h  other  across  the  hospitable  table. 
None  of  them  but  had-^ravelled  farther  than  Ulysses,  and, 
like  him,  had  seen  strange  cities,  and  observed  many  minds 
of  men,  and  was  as  deeply  read  in  the  book  of  human  ex- 
perience as  ever  the  crafty  King  of  Ithaca.  v   ir  nb- 

The  event  of  the  afternoon — the  reading  of  the  Royal 
despatches — ^had  somewhat  dashed  the  spirits  of  the  coun- 
cillors, for  they  saw  clearly  the  drift  of  events  which  was 
sweeping  New  France  out  of  the  lap  of  her  mother  country, 
unless  her  policy  were  totally  changed,  and  the  hour  of 


U 


■■•!-  • 


4IU 


THE  C HI  EN  n  OR, 


need  brought  forth  a  man  capable  of  saving  France  her- 
self,  and  her  faithful  and  imperilled  colonies. 

The  Count  was  not  slow  to  notice  in  the  o'hers  the 
heavy  thoughts  he  felt  in  himself,  and  he  sought  to  banish 
them  from  his  table  by  turning  to  other  topics  and  draw- 
ing out  some  of  the  hidden  stores  of  wisdom  which  he 
knew  were  hived  up  in  the  capacious  brain  of  his  Swedish 
friend* 

"  Kalm,"  said  he,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  in  the  kind, 
familiar  way  that  fascinated  all  men  with  the  Count  de  la 
Galissonifere — "  We  have  turned  over  many  new  leaves 
since  we  studied  together  in  Upsal.  The  tide  of  science 
has  ebbed  and  flowed  several  times  since  then." 

"  And  some  of  our  leaves  we  have  turned  backwards. 
Count.  An  era  of  discovery  is  ever  followed  by  an  era  of 
skepticism,  which  lasts  until  men  learn  how  to  subordinate 
their  new  theories  to  the  old,  eternal  verities.  Our  age  is 
growing  more  and  more  unbelieving  every  day.  We  light 
up  our  temples  with  new  lamps,  and  forget  that  the  sun  is 
shining  over  us  in  the  heavens  as  it  always  did ! 

"  I  believe  you,  Kalm.  The  writings  of  Voltaire  and 
Rousseau  will  bear  evil  fruit,  of  which  if  France  eat  to  re- 
pletion, she  will  become  mad." 

"  She  will  become  mad.  Count !  Unbelief  is  in  her 
brain,  and  she  cannot  control  the  fiery  passions  in  her 
heart.  Absitomen!  I  fear  an  age  of  terrible  probation 
awaits  your  noble  country.  The  first  symptom  of  her  de- 
cay is  seen  in  her  indifference  to  her  noble  colonies.  She 
concentrates  all  her  thought  upon  herself,— cares  only  for 
her  own  selfish  interests." 

The  Governor  reflected  bitterly  upon  the  despatches 
he  had  lately  received.  He  knew  that  France  was  given 
up  into  the  hands  of  extortioners  and  spendthrifts.  Money 
was  at  the  top,  money  at  the  bottom  of  every  motive 
of  action.  The  few  were  growing  licher  and  richer, — the 
many,  poorer  and  poorer — with  a  chasm  opening  between 
the  two  classes  of  society — between  king  and  kingdom — 
whi:h  would  one  day  plunge  it  into  chaos.  The  colonies 
would  go  first,  however. 

The  Count  would  not  utter  the  painful  thoughts  which 
oppressed  him  ;  but  by  an  effort  wrenched  the  conversation 
into  another  channel. 

"  Kaln? ! "  said  he.  "  We  often  at  Upsal  debated  the 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4" 


questio'  of  the  antiquity  of  the  earth  especiallv  with  refer- 
ence to  this  new  world  of  ours,  which  neither  of  us  had 
then  seen.  What  thinks  Upsal  now  of  the  argument  ?  has 
she  ever  opened  the  question  since,  from  her  chars  of 
philosophy  ? " 

The  Swede  spoke  confidently  in  reply:  >  ' 

"  She  has  often  done  so.  Count,  and  tlie  argument  is 
much  advanced.  A  new  light  has  arisen  in  our  intellectual 
heaven  which  promises  to  illuminate  all  philosophy  with 
its  rays. 

"  Aye !  I  have  heard  somewhat  of  that,  Kalm !  what 
does  the  new  philosophy  teach  ?  "  asked  the  Governor  with 
interest  expressed  in  every  feature.  ' 

"  It  is  less  a  new  philosophy  than  a  new  illumination  of 
the  old,"  replied  Kalm.  "  If  we  lay  bare  the  foundations 
of  things  we  shall  see  that  the  world  is  old  as  time,  and 
that  before  the  creation  was,  time  was  not ;  only  eternity. 

"  Aye !  that  is  a  deep  thouglit,  and  may  be  true, 
Kalm  !  "  replied  the  Count  reflectively. 

"  I  believe  it  is  true,  Count ;  science  points  to  revolu- 
tions and  changes  stretching  back  into  the  darkness  of  the 
past,  as  far  as  imagination  can  penetrate  into  the  darkness 
of  the  future.  The  infinitely  swift  of  the  celestial  motions 
of  light  and  gravity  has  its  opposite  and  counterpart  in  the 
infinitely  slow  of  the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the 
formations  of  our  earth."  ;  . 

"  You  still  regard  the  world  as  very  old,  Kalm  !  It  was 
your  favorite  argument  at  Upsal,  I  remember." 

"  Then  as  now  I  look  here.  Count !  "  Kalm  took  a  piece 
of  coal  from  a  little  cabinet  of  minerals  ;  it  had  been  brought 
to  the  Governor  by  voyageurs  from  the  western  slopes  of 
the  Alleghany  mountains.  "  Millions  of  ages  ago  "  said  he, 
"  in  the  depths  of  time,  the  sun  was  shining  as  brightly 
upon  an  earth  covered  with  tropical  vegetations  as  upon  the 
ec'iator  to-day.  This  lump  of  coal,  the  condensation  of 
vegetable  growths  is  in  its  last  analysis  nothing  but  the 
heat  and  light  of  the  sun  elaborated  into  this  concrete 
form.  The  last  word  of  chemistry  is  heat  and  light  and 
that  only,  but  behind  these  is  the  cause  of  causes,  the  love 
and  wisdom  of  God.  Burn  this  coal,  you  release  the  long 
imprisoned  rays  of  that  ancient  sun,  and  they  give  out  the 
warmth  and  illumination  of  a  primaeval  universe." 

"This  fern,"  continued  the  philosopher,   pluck' ng  a 


h 


4" 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR, 


.'.V 


the  table,  "  is  the  cucpie»' 


spray  from  the  Sbvres  vase  upon 

Sion  of  a  olivine  idea,  the  form  of  some  use  for  man's  ser- 
vice or  delight.  Its  tiny  pores  contain  a  principle  of  life 
capable  of  infinite  niultiplication  for  ever.  What  is  that 
life  ?  God !  who  in  his  love  and  in  his  wisdom  is  in  all 
things  according  to  their  form  and  use.  The  conservation 
of  the  universe  is  perpetual  creation.  Every  moment  o[ 
its  existence  displays  as  great  a  miracle  of  divine  power  as 
was  shown  when  the  earth. and  the  heavens  were  first  made 
by  his  Word.  The  same  power  which  called  the  world 
from  chaos  alone  preserves  it  from  falling  back  into  the 
same." 

"  I  like  your  philosophy,  Kalm ! "  replied  the  Count. 
**  If  the  universe  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  vesture  of  the  all- 
pervading  God.  it  may  well  seem  eternal,  although  sub- 
ject to  perpetual  change.  I  can  easily  believe  that  the  world 
IS  very  old,  and  has  seen  many,  many  renewals  of  both  its 
youth  and  its  age." 

"  And  may  see  as  many  more.  The  form  of  matter  is  de- 
structible, but  not  its  essence.  Why  ?  Because  in  its  origin 
it  is  spiritual,  an  emanation  of  the  eternal  logos  by  which 
all  things  were  made  that  are  made.  The  earth  is  God's 
footstool  in  a  sense  higher  than  science  has  yet  attained 
the  height  of." 

"  That  fern  had  a  beginning,"  remarked  Beauharnois, 
who  was  profoundly  interested  in  topics  of  this  sort, 
"  Time  was  when  it  was  not, — ^how  know  you,  Herr  Kalm, 
when  it  began ? "  '  ■  ^>  ::n   V! :•/;!'  ;■ 

"  In  the  book  of  the  earth  whose  leaves  are  stone,  the 
hieroglyphics  of  its  history  were  written  ere  man  appeared 
to  record  the  ages  and  cycles  of  time.  Nor  can  his  arith- 
metic reckon  back  to  the  period  when  this  fern  began  to 
flourish.  We  may  read,  however,  of  the  order  of  its  crea- 
tion in  what  the  book  of  the  beginning  calls  the  third  day. 
This  part  of  America  was  then  dry  land,  while  Europe  and 
Asia  were  still  submerged  under  an  ocean  of  tossing  seas. 

"  You  regard,  then,  the  New  World  as  really  the  old  ? 
Herr  Kalm  1  and  the  elder  born  of  all  lands  ? "  asked 
Beauharnois. 

^f-  The  smoke  rose  lightly  fr:)m  the  philosopher's  pipe  and 
curled  in  silvery  clouds  up  to  the  ceiling.  vru.  i 

"  Unquestionably,  Chevalier  !  "  replied  he,  blowing  a 
fragrant,  gentle  cloud  \  "  I  have  compared  North  America, 


OLYMFTL  .IfiAHIOTS,  ETC. 


4IJ 


and 


rock  witli  roik,  plant  with  plant,  tiee  with  tree  ;  fishes,  birds^ 
animals  and  men,  all  bear  an  archaic  type  of  creation, 
before  which  the  creations  of  Europe  are  but  as  tilings  ol 
yesterday." 

"  Our  savans  of  the  Academy  have  as  yet  made  only 
vague  guesses  about  these  things,  Kalm !  "  said  the  Count, 
"  and  1  pretend  not  to  be  wiser  than  they,  but  1  have  heard 
La  Corne  often  declare  (liat  there  was  something  so  settled 
and  petrified  in  the  nature  of  the  red  men  of  America  that 
he  looked  upon  their  very  children  as  older  in  their 
instincts  and  ways  than  grown  men  of  the  white  race.  He 
has  always  said  that  our  Indians  bear  the  marks  of  an  im- 
mense antiquity." 

"  And  of  an  antiquity,"  interrupted  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who  had  listened  to  the  conversation  with  fixed  attention, 
"  so  old,  ossified,  and  worn  out,  that  it  can  never  recover  its 
spring  and  elasticity  again.  Nothing  can  bring  back  the 
youth  of  the  red  men,  or  change  their  ways.  The  very 
soul  of  the  race  has  set  and  hardened  in  the  form  it  will 
retain  until  it  disappears  from  the  earth." 

"  And  yet  they  may  say  of  themselves,  "  We  are  the 
heirs  of  a  lost  civilization  which  once  filled  America  with 
its  wonders,  before  the  light  of  knowledge  had  dawned  in 
any  part  of  the  old  world/  "  remarked  Herr  Kalm.      .,,,ii 

"  I  have  seen  in  the  tropics  ruins  of  great  cities  and 
temples  of  strange  Gods.  I  will  not  call  them  demons," 
continued  La  Corne. 

"  That  would  be  unphilosophical  as  well  as  unchris- 
tian," replied  Herr  Kalm,  "  but  there  is  one  proof  of  the 
great  antiquity  of  the  red  men  which  I  am  incapable  of 
appreciating  so  well  as  you.  The  languages  of  these  native 
tribes  are,  I  believe,  so  nice  in  structure  and  exhibit  such 
polish  and  smoothness  of  expression  as  can  only  have  been 
acquired  by  ages  of  civilization,  just  as  the  round  pebbles 
of  the  shore  testify  to  the  long  continued  action  of  the 
waves.  An  instrument  of  thought  so  perfect  could  not 
have  been  elaborated  by  wild  hunters  like  those  who  now 
possess  it." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  Reii  men,  Herr  Kalm !  " 
replied  La  Corne.  "  Their  languages  are  so  far  superior 
to  themselves  that  they  must  have  come  down  from  a  great 
ancient  civilization  of  which  they  have  forfeited  the  heri^ 
age  and  lost  every  tradition  of  it  themselves,"    't  ,  q/jit^^j^ 


♦H 


THE  CHI  END' OR. 


if 


"It  is  what  I  should  have  expected,  and  what  I  have 
found,  Chevalier,"  replied  Kalm.  "  Everything  appertain- 
ing to  the  new  world  proclaims  its  vast  antiquif.y.  Its 
rocks  were  dry  land  when  Europe  was  submerged  in  the 
ocean.  I  have  lately  gazed  with  wonder  and  veneration 
upon  the  old,  old  worn  down  mountains  of  the  Laurentides, 
which  are  to  all  other  mountains  of  the  earth  what  the 
Pyramids  of  Egypt  are  to  all  other  works  of  man.  Their 
very  look  impresses  one  with  an  idea  of  the  hoar  of  an 
unfathomable  antiquity.  There  we  find  the  veritable 
"  bank  and  shoal  of  time  "  which  poets  only  have  dreamt 
of,  the  first  land  that  emerged  from  the  universal  sea  when 
God  said  "  let  the  waters  be  gathered  together  in  one 
place  and  let  the  dry  land  appear  ! "  "  The  Laurentides 
came  into  being  while  the  old  world  and  the  rest  of  the 
new  were  only  ideas  pre-existing  in  the  foreknowledge  of 
the  Divine  Creator.  There,  if  anywhere,  will  perhaps  one 
day  be  discovered  the  first  dawn  of  life  upon  our  earth." 

"  Our  existing  flora  and  fauna  should  be  also  of  a  more 
antique  type  than  those  of  the  old  world,  a  fact  which 
philosophers  begin  to  recognize,  do  they  not } "  asked 
Beauharnois. 

"  Undoubtedly  !  you  recollect.  Count !  "  said  Kalm, 
turning  to  the  Governor,  "  Rudberg  used  to  remark,  that 
the  horse,  the  elephant,  the  camel  and  the  ox  are  not  in- 
digenous to  the  new  world,  but  that  the  buffaloes  of  the 
western  plains  are  of  the  same  archaic  type  as  the  mam- 
moth, while  the  turkey,  the  condor  and  the  Llama  bear  the 
stamp  of  an  older  creation  than  any  living  creatures  of 
Europe  or  Asia. 

A  cabinet  in  the  room  contained  some  well  preserved 
specimens  of  fishes  and  shells  ;  the  Count  was  a  great  col- 
lector. Herr  Kalm  took  from  it  one  of  hose  most  ancient 
of  fishes,  a  garpike  from  Lake  Ontario,  the  last  living 
species  of  a  class  of  created  beings  that  peopled  the  pri 
maeval  waters  of  the  earth  before  ought  else  that  now  lives 
had  heard  the  fiat  of  the  Creator  to  come  forth. 

"  Yours  are  the  oldest  of  waters,  as  well  as  the  oldest 
of  lands,  Count ! "  said  he. "  The  oldest  forms  of  the  old 
world  are  modern  compared  with  this  fish  wljich  is  an 
idea  come  down  to  us  from  the  depths  of  eternity.  It  tells 
us  that  that  ancient  world  was  a  world  of  violence  more, 
perhaps,  than  is  ours  now ;  look  at  its  armor  of  defence 


"^y^f'c  cnARiors.  ETx 


its  teeth  of  riufn  u      ,  4lt 

'--    eas,  tills l'l,v^"i"".'   <"  contain  s,ir,,"'i'l"«.">"M 


not  Amenca   CT  "^  "'«  P'^«  ■'     How  ".'  r'"'^-  ■  ^' 
land  seas  tLl',-^"""^'  '«  contain  «;m  ,"""'"«  ">"« 

^onne7  Z^-^^^'^^^^'^7T''"  ^^  A^er- 

civilisation.^'' ^"'"'«-va.s  "-e  -scene  o'a'"!,^!'  ^''^out 
"  You     I  ^  "*  a  great  primeval 

derfuJfp?^  r.f  A^    ^"  ^<^  I'eac    Plafr^'c  ^^°  ^"^  gov- 

S-":<^{'?- i^e  bS/o'i^?;;^  was  •=-"  ^^ «-« 

TOuld  have  h»       "^""'d  only  ha?e  LiL  ^y'^^'?"ds,  but  in- 

^mU:;?rerT"''"^'°'  -^^^-^^^^^^^^^^    *"^  '• 

have  been  transnlll.    ,^°'"«  °f  Ae  fruit  tre«    i  a%P'  »"d 
ci^^tior  °">«^«en™ty, ->:''»  re-dlsco've^rS? 

Mexico  and  Pen?  ','''*  '^  ''oseate  skv  in  th  °  "'""'P'^ely  but 

^'efe  ;i"  Trtfe've^thTcoTt'  >>«."  repued 

mains  o=  anden?"!"''  ^  ''av-e  met  with  '"'"'  T"  "P  '<» 

resolved 'intofhi-  "^"''  °^ergrown  wT  I  f    °""'''  ^"^  "-e- 

of  'he  trop  cs  Ire  Jm  ™''  <^'='y-     Dow^lfe  =""1  half 

pies  with  imL^'   '""  """-e  worderful  n  1    V^^P  forests 

Amerce,/.  -»-"  'o  prove  the  ear?,  X^iton"? 

the  Governor  ^°T  ''"'ifirmation  of  it  T  ,  r^ 

ine  tar-off  rugged 


41^ 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


*   ill' 


■,i: 


1!- 


\\:i\  i/k  ■ 


'shores  of  Lake  Superior  he  has  found  ancient  workings  in 
mines  of  copper,  lead  and  silver  ;  workings  of  times  long 
past  and  by  nations  utterly  forgotten  by  the  present  rude 
tribes  that  occupy  the  country." 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  so,  Count  "  replied  Kalm.  "  All  those 
territories  may  in  some  remote  age  have  formed  one  vast 
empire.  The  Americans,  like  the  Chinese,  have  many 
languages  and  but  one  system  of  Hieroglyphics  understood 
by  all.  Those  painted  strips  of  bark  upon  your  council  taBTe, 
Grovernor,  would  be  read  with  ease  by  every  Indian  from 
the  Northern  Seas  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

The  wine  cups  were  replenished,  and  in  the  lull  of  con- 
versation fragrant  columns  of  tobacco  smoke  rose  and  min- 
gled gently  in  a  silvery  cloud  over  the  heads  of  the  group 
of  friends. 

The  conversation  shifted  to  other  topics — Rigaud  de 
Vaudreuil  had  kept  quiet  during  the  recent  discussion.  He 
was  a  soldier  and  a  patriot,  brave  and  honest,  but  he  would 
not  waste  a  word  on  antiquarian  subjects  which  he  did 
not  understand,  and  in  his  heart  thoroughly  despised.  But 
he  was  eager  to  question  the  northern  philosopher  on  his 
opinions  respecting  the  war  and  the  political  signs  of  the. 
times. 

"  You  have  had  the  privilege  of  a  passport  through 
England  as  well  as  her  colonies,  Herr  Kalm,"  said  he,  "  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  tell  what  you  saw  in  regard  to  military 
preparations — that  would  be  a  breach  of  the  laws  of  honor, 
as  well  as  of  hospitality ;  but  it  would  be  no  breach  of  either 
to  ask  your  opinion  of  the  general  policy  of  the  English  in 
regard  to  North  America." 

"  It  is  to  conquer  New  France,  neither  more  nor  less  1 " 
replied  Kalm,  curtly.  "  The  English  colonies  never  cease 
urging  it  out  of  fear  of  you,  and  the  mother  country  is  too 
ready  to  reap  the  glory  of  humbling  her  rival  v/it^out  re- 
gard to  the  consequences  of  such  a  conquest.  ICngland 
and  her  colonies  in  America  seem  as  one  in  making  this 
the  comer  sfone  of  their  policy." 

**  It  is  what  we  have  all  believed,  and  what  for  a  hun- 
dred years  they  have  tried  to  do,"  replied  Rigaud  de  Vau- 
dreuil ;  "  they  will  succeed  in  it  when  every  man  worthy  of 
the  name  of  Canadian  lies  stark  and  stiff  upon  the  frontiers 
— but  not  until  then.  I  thank  you  cordially,  Herr  Kalm," 
Rigaud  shook  him  by  the  hand,  "  for  telling  the  truth,  how 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


417 


ever  unpalatable.  But  you  spoke  of  the  consequences  of 
such  a  conquest,  Herr  Kalm, — what  do  you  mean  by  the 
consequences?" 

"  That  France  will  have  her  revenge,  Monsieur  de  Vau- 
dreuil.  I  have  travelled  through  the  English  colonies  with 
little  cred't  to  my  eyes  and  ears  if  I  have  not  convinced  my- 
self, that  It  is  only  fear  of  the  power  of  France  which  keeps 
New  England  in  subordination  to  the  mother  country.  The 
spirit  of  the  English  commonwealth  of  a  century  ago 
smoulders  hot  in  the  bosoms  of  the  old  Parliamentarians 
of  New  England.  They  could  be  true  to  a  Cromwell,  they 
cannot  be  true  to  a  king.  When  the  English  colonies  shall 
have  made  a  conquest  of  New  France,  they  will  speedily 
declare  against  their  mother  country.  The  commonwealth 
will  once  more  contend  for  mastery  with  the  crown. 
There  will  be  war,  and  France  will  then  take  her  revenge. 
Every  enemy  of  England  will  join  her  rebels  to  inflict  upon 
her  a  mortal  stab,  and  tear  from  her  the  colonies  which 
make  her  so  great  and  powerful." 

^^Far  Dieti  I  you  speak  like  a  prophet,  Herr  Kalm  ! "  ex- 
claimed de  Vaudreuil,  slapping  his  thigh,  "  that  would  be 
a  revenge  sweet  as  our  conquest  would  be  bitter.  We  are 
not  ignorant  in  New  France  of  the  secret  machinations  of 
the  disaffected  republicans  of  New  England ;  they  have 
made  overtures  to  us  in  times  past  to  aid  them,  but  we 
would  not  countenance  them,  for  we  knew  that  in  reality  they 
were  the  bitterest  enemies  of  our  king  and  of  our  church." 

"  They  will  first  uproot  your  king  with  the  help  of  Eng- 
land, and  then  overturn  their  own  in  the  New  World  by  the 
help  of  France.  The  war  will  be  long  and  bloody,  and  en- 
mities will  be  raised  outlasting  a  hundred  years,"  replied 
Kalm  quietly,  but  his  words  had  force  in  them. 

"  By  St.  Michael !  your  words  have  the  twang  of  truth, 
Herr  Kalm,"  interrupted  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  "  but  France, 
if  she  be  true  to  herself  and  to  us,  will  never  lose  her  do- 
minion in  the  New  World  through  the  enmity  of  the  English 
colonies." 

"  May  it  be  so,  Cheva'ier  I  "  replied  the  Swede,  refilling 
his  pipe.  "  The  grace  and  polish  of  France  are  needed  in 
the  civilization  of  this  great  continent  by  the  side  of  the 
rough  energies  ot  England.  Happy  the  State  whi<h  can 
unite  them  both  I  Such  a  one  I  see  quickening  in  the 
womb  of  the  future." 


;V' 


27 


=51 


4iS 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


"  Tell  me  what  you  see,  Kalm,"  interrupted  the  Gov. 
ernor;  ** We  are  all  philosophers  tonight.  A  man  seemi 
to  approach  nearest  the  divine  life  when  he  tries  to  live  it, 
and  he  feels  his  intellect  most  God-like  when  he  clearly* 
forecasts  what  is  to  come  to  pass.  What  see  you  quicken- 
ing in  the  womb  of  the  future,  Kalm  ?" 

"  I  see  a  time  when  the  present  English  colonies  will 
rebel  and  cast  off  the  English  yoke,  not  because  it  is  heavy, 
but  because  it  is  easy  and  light,  and  does  not  keep  down 
the  stiff  neck  of  a  puritan  democracy.  I  see  a  time  when 
gathering  up  their  strength  to  declare  their  independence 
of  England,  they  will  hold  out  both  hands  to  New  France, 
then  a  province  of  England,  for  help.  They  will  appeal  to 
you,  La  Corne  St.  Luc  !  and  to  you,  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  I 
and  all  New  France,  to  join  them  in  rebellion  against  Eng- 
land, and,  mirabile  dictu^  you  shall  treat  their  offers  with 
disdain,  and  prefer  to  remain  true  to  your  new  king  and 
your  new  allegiance,  to  which  you  shall  have  been  given 
up  by  France  I  Nay,  more,  listen.  Chevalier  La  Corne,  re- 
ject my  vaticination  if  you  will;  should  England,  having  be- 
come degenerate,  abandon  you  in  your  extremity,  as  France 
is  likely  to  do,  the  last  gun  fired  in  defence  of  her  flag  will 
be  by  the  hand  of  a  French  Canadian." 

"By  all  the  saints  in  Paradise  ! "  exclaimed  La  Corne 
St.  Luc, — "And  by  all  the  devils  in  hell ! "  ejaculated  Ri- 
gaud de  Vaudreuil,  flaming  up  like  a  volcano,  "  stop  your 
vaticinations,  Herr  Kalm !  Cassandra  never  predicted 
such  things  to  Troy  as  you  do  to  New  France.  What  you 
say  is  simply  impossible  ! " 

"  Impossible  or  no,  it  is  what  I  see  in  the  not  distant 
hiture,"  answered  Kalm,  coolly. 

"  The  only  thing  I  will  admit,"  said  La  Corne,  "  is  the 
certainty  that  come  what  may,  loyal  and  Catholic  New 
France  will  never  join  hands  with  the  heretical  Puritans  of 
New  England." 

"  If  we  love  old  England  little,  we  love  New  England 
still  less,"  replied  La  Corne.  "  We  should  assuredly  never 
take  part  with  the  latter  against  the  former.  But  we  shall 
never  forsake  France,  never ! " 

"  But  you  may  be  cast  off.  La  Corne  !  France  may  part 
with  you  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  and  buy  peace  with  Eng- 
land by  your  sacrifice." 

"  France  1  Chivalrous  France  will  die  in  her  harness 


i  i- 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4if 


first ! "  exclaimed  La  C(  me,  with  all  the  emphasis  of  i» 
credulity. 

"  But  France,  ruled  not  by  chivalry  but  by  courtezans  \ 
by  money,  not  by  honor — I  will  not  pursue  the  black  thoughti 
Chevalier  La  Corne  ;  France,  not  chivalrous,  may  do  it.  I 
say  no  more ;  forgive  me !  "  continued  the  philosopher, 
offering  his  hand  to  La  Corne.  "I  am  only  a  student  of 
man  and  nature,  a  dreamer,  for  the  most  part,  who  ought  to 
keep  his  visions  to  himself.  The  Count  has  said  that  in- 
tellect is  most  God-like  when  it  clearly  apprehends  the 
future.  It  may  be  so,  but  it  does  not  prevent  the  torment 
which  accompanies  like  a  curse  every  forecast  of  misfor- 
tune." 

"  A  truce  now  to  politics,"  exclaimed  the  Governor, 
"  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  of  it.  We  will  not  in- 
crease our  miseries  by  adding  to  the  present  the  burden  of 
the  future.  Herr  Kalm  represents  old  Upsala,  and  we  will 
drink  a  health,  gentlemen,  a  Swedish  skdl^  to  his  honor. 
Let  us  wash  our  brains  clear  of  politics,  and  garnish  our 
upper  rooms  for  guests  of  a  pleasanter  sort."  it  u>^ 

The  cups  were  again  replenished,  and,  the  Count  setting 
the  example,  all  rose  and  with  enthusiastic  energy  drank 
a  skdl  to  the  health  of  their  Swedish  guest. 

The  Count  leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  if  recalling  to 


mind  some  memories  of 


long 


ago.     "  Six  lustrums,"  said 


he,  "  thirty  years  of  manhood  have  begun  to  whiten  your 
locks  and  mine,  Kalm  !  since  we  finished  our  botanical 
studies  at  Upsal  under  a  youth  much  younger  than  our- 
selves, but  even  then  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the 
University,  as  he  has  since  become  of  the  world.  Linnaeus 
was  still  a  student  of  Olaf  Celsius  and  Gammal  Rod- 
beck,  when  he  opened  the  treasure  house  of  nature  to 
scholars  and  professors  alike.  Long  may  he  wear  the 
crown  of  Philosophy  which  the  world  has  deservedly  placed 
upon  his  head !  " 

"  Linnaeus  would  not  willingly  hear  that.  Count,"  re- 
plied Kalm,  "  he  is  simple  as  he  is  great,  and  like  Newton, 
thinks  he  has  only  gathered  a  few  pebbles  on  the  shore  of 
the  vast  ocean  of  truth  which  still  lies  unexplored  before 
him." 

"  No  1  he  would  not  willingly  hear  it,  Kalm,  I  know." 
said  the  Governor,  "but  we  should  be  ungrateful  not  to 
say  it  1    What  glorious  times  were  those,  when  our  onli 


4<o 


THE  C/I/EN  DOR. 


,■;'»■. 


eare  was  to  learn  \\hai  such  men  t:ui;^ht  us  ;  whenGammal 
Rodbcck  put  us  (hrou;;Ii  the  same  regime  and  courses 
which  he  never  wearied  of  telling  us  he  liad  prescribed  foi 
his  brave  pupil,  Charles  XII."  *    -      t       run  /  : 

"  Yes  !  it  quieted  our  grutnblinpj  at  short  commons,  dur- 
ing the  dearth  !"  replied  Kalm,  laujjhinj^  at  the  reminder, 
**  Our  groats  tasted  all  the  sweeter  when  we  believed  they 
had  formed  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  arm  which  conquer- 
ed at  Pultowa." 

The  Governor  plunged  into  a  stream  of  reminiscences  ; 
"Our  classmates  are  now  like  ourselves,  Kalm,"  said  he, 
'*grey  headed  and  haply  wise  in  the  discovery  that  there 
is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  and  that  all  is  vanity  1 
Whore  is  Crusenstolpe  ?  " 

"  Living  in  his  ancestral  Chateau  in  Wermland,  hunting 
stags,  cultivating  barley,  and  rearing  a  race  of  young  Swedes 
to  bear  his  name  and  serve  their  King  and  country."  -     > 

"  And  Engelshem  ? "  continued  the  Governor. 

**  In  the  army,  a  stalwart  Finland  Cuirassier,"  replied 
Kalm. 

"  A  brave  fellow,  I  warrant  him  !  "  observed  the  Gov- 
ernor, *'  and  Stroembom,  our  Waterbull,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  the  navy,  guarding  the  skerries  of  the  Baltic  coast." 
(^  And  Sternberg .?  "  pursued  the  Governor  with  the  eager- 
ness of  a  school  girl  asking  after  her  classmates. 

"  Councillor  of  State  at  the  court  of  King  Frederick, 
as  he  was  at  that  of  Queen  Ulrica,"  wa%  the  reply;  "  I  am 
at  Abo,  a  humble  professor  of  philosophy  \  and  Marken- 
shiold  is  preaching  patriotism  and  religion  to  the  Dalcar- 
lians.  A  needless  labor  I  but  the  Dalkarls  like  to  be  told 
they  have  c'one  their  whole  duty  to  God  and  the  King  I 
and  they  don't  tnink  much  of  an  orator  who  does  not  tell 
them  so  I " 

"There  was  one  more  of  our  class,  Kalm,  that  wonder- 
ful youth  Swedenborg,  where  is  he  ?  "  continued  the  Gov- 
ernor.       ...   ^  ->-     ■-    .    >'.M-.-.  >;:      ;-■'.:  ;ii.i 

;;  "  Ah !  he  is  at  Stockholm  in  the  body,  but  as  to  his 
spirit  in  all  the  seven  heavens,"  replied  Kalm,  hardly  ex- 
plicit enough  in  his  answer.  > 
"  What  mean  you,  Kalm  ?  He  was  the  brightest 
genius  of  the  Univers  ty ! "  observed  the  Governor,  his 
curiosity  quite  piqued. 

»    "  And  is  still,"  replied  Kalm,  emphaticall/     *'  Few  ca» 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4»l 


follow  to  the  heijjhts  wh«  re  soars  the  spirit  of  S\vcclcnl)orgf, 
After  exhausting  the  phibsophy  of  earth,  he  is  now  explor- 
ing that  of  heaven  and  hell.  He  is  not  like  Dante  leid  by 
the  eidolon  of  a  Virgil  or  a  Beatrice  through  scenes  of  in- 
tensest  imagery,  but  in  visions  of  divine  permission,  s^cs 
and  converses  with  atigels  and  spirits  in  their  abodes  of 
happiness  or  misery." 

"  You  surprise  me,  Kalm !  young  Swedenborg  was  the 
deepest  mathematician  and  the  closest  observer  of  nature  in 
our  class,"  replied  the  Governor.  "  Olaf  Celsius  called  him 
preeminently  "  the  philosopher,"  and  he  merited  the  desig- 
nation I     He  was  anything  but  a  wild  enthusiast." 

"  And  is  so  yet.  But  you  know,  Count,  that  under  our 
northern  ice  and  snow  smoulder  hidden  fires  which  break 
forth  sometimes,  to  illuminate,  sometimes  to  devastate  the 
world." 

"  Aye,  Kalm  !  replied  the  Governor  with  a  look  of 
frank  assent,  "  I  there  recognize  your  Swedish  genius !  It 
is  bright  and  cold  as  a  winter's  sun  to  illuminate  the  fields 
of  science,  but  filled  with  irresistible  impulses  of  a  Berser- 
kir  to  lift  the  veil  and  look  at  things  never  seen  before  by 
mortal  man  !  A  genius  speculative  and  profound,  but 
marbled  with  deep  veins  of  mysticism,  primordial  like  the 
spirit  of  the  Edda  and  of  the  race  of  Odin  !  In  strange 
ways  the  genius  of  the  North  reveals  itself  now  and  again, 
to  the  world's  wonder  and  admiration." 

"  Tr\u  Count !  and  our  Swedisii  j^enius  never  revealed 
itsc'  I  more  markedly  than  in  the  soul  of  Swedenborg.  There 
is  no  height  of  philosophy  he  has  not  scaled,  no  depth  of 
science  which  he  has  not  sounded.  His  bold  speculations 
are  carried  on  with  such  a  force  of  reasoning  that  a  man  can 
no  more  escape  from  its  power  than  he  could  get  out  of  the 
maelstrom  if  he  once  trusts  himself  to  its  sweep  and  drift" 

"  And  yet  I  do  wonder,  Kalm  !  that  so  crystal  clear  a.- 
intellect  as  Swedenborg's  should  turn  towards  mysticisrn 
in  the  face  of  modern  philosophy  and  modern  science 
which  no  one  comprehended  better  than  himself!"  '^ 

''*■  Fortasse  et propUr  hoc,^^  replied  the  philosopher,  "but 
I  am  unequal  to  judge  as  yet  our  old  fellow-student.  He 
has  got  beyond  me  ;  I  feel  that  clearly." 

"When  did  you  see  him,  Kalrn.^"  asked  the  Governor, 
conjuring  up  to  his  mind' s  eye,  the  handsome  grave  youth 
of  his  early  acquaintance.  — '    ■'      '•  ♦-  - -j^  r^i  •:i.\i^i 


«•• 


THE  CHIEN  jyOR, 


"  Just  before  I  left  Stockholm,  on  my  present  vcyage, 
said  Kalm.  ''  He  was  in  his  favorite  summer  house  in  the 
orchard  behind  his  residence  in  the  Hornsgata.  You  know 
the  place,  Count.  It  is  there  the  Heavens  are  opened  to 
him,  and  there  he  writes  the  wonders  of  the  Arcana  Cekstia 
which  he  will  one  day  deliver  to  the  world." 

"  You  surprise  me,  Kalm  !  I  could  not  have  conjectured 
he  was  writing  on  those  topics  !  He  has  left  Philosophy, 
then,  and  struck  out  a  new  path  in  science  and  theology  ? " 

The  Governor  became  intensely  interested  in  the  idea 
of  the  possible  development  or  rather  revelation  of  new 
truths,  and  of  a  new  departure  in  the  domains  of  science 
and  theology. 

"  He  has  struck  out  a  new  path  in  both.  Count. 
**  But  it  is  not  so  much  the  new  as  the  rediscovery  of  the 
old  !  the  rejoining  of  the  broken  links  of  correspondence 
in  the  golden  chain  which  once  united  man  and  nature 
with  the  spiritual  world." 

**  You  believe  in  it,  Kalm  I  You  were  always  taken  by 
that  Platonic  fancy  of  a  correspondence  as  of  soul  and 
body  between  things  of  earth  with  the  Divine  ideas  in 
which  tliey  originate  ! " 

"  Nay,  as  I  said,  I  know  not  what  to  believe  about  it  yet," 
replied  Kalm  ;  "  Swedenborg  is  the  soul  of  candor,  and  sin- 
cere as  he  is  pious,  humble  and  enlightened.  He  told  me 
wonderful  things,  as  a  brother  and  a  philosopher  who  has 
been  permitted  to  look  at  creation  not  as  men  see  it  from 
without,  but  as  angels  may  be  supposed  to  regard  it  from 
within  outwards.  He  has  opened  the  flood-gates  of  an 
entire  new  philosophy  of  spirit  and  matter,  that  may  one 
day  cover  all  our  present  systems,  as  the  waters  of  a 
fruitful  irrigation,  not  as  a  destroying  deluge,  however." 
'  "  Well  Kalm,  he  was  a  noble  youth,  and  if  he  has  gone 
mad  through  excess  of  wisdom,  few  men  have  had  the 
same  excuse  i  As  for  me  I  study  philosophy  in  visible 
forms,  a  stone,  a  plant,  a  drop  of  water,  a  living  organism 
of  whatever  kind.  The  three  kingdoms  of  nature  are  my 
book,  and  reason  is  its  commentary.  I  look  no  farther  ! 
Theology  I  love,  but  leave  that  to  its  divinely  appointed 
teacher,  Credo  in  Sandam  E  Kcelsiam  Catholicam  I  As  my 
lathers  before  me  believed,  I  also  hope  to  be  saved  in  thai 
faith,  as  I  trust  it  has  saved  them."  I  seek  not  to  recon 
cile  religion  and  science  as  you  do,  Kalmr\  ,.  . 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4*3 


i> 


The  count,  as  he  said  this,  glanced  at  the  Bishop,  who 
looked  approvingly  at  him.  Bishop  Pontbriand  made 
small  allowance  for  the  aberrations  of  genius.  The  path  of 
life  was  in  his  view  so  plain  that  a  wayfarer,  though  a  fool, 
need  not  stumble  over  any  rocks  of  philosophy,  for  none 
were  to  be  found  in  it. 

"  No  wise  man,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  tries  to  judge  God  ! 
we  take  him  as  he  has  revealed  himself,  and  can  know 
with  certainty  no  further.  We  cannot  judge  even  men 
justly,  let  alone  the  things  of  creation  which  are  left  to  be 
named  by  us  as  they  were  named  by  Adam,  who  gave 
all  things  their  names  just  as  he  understood  their  nature 
and  learned  their  qualities ;  but  it  is  only  the  earthy,  not 
the  Divine  ideas  they  express  which  science  interprets." 

"  I  bow  with  deference  to  the  good  Bishop,"  remarked 
Kalm.  "  We  differ  in  signs  and  tokens  only.  The  sea 
has  many  waves  upon  its  surface,  but  in  its  depths  it  is  all 
one  abiding  peace  and  uniformity.  But  you  know.  Bishop, 
that  in  Sweden  we  question  the  Sphinx  as  deeply  as  she 
questions  us.  We  take  nothing  for  granted  and  acknowl- 
edge no  authority  but  divine  truth  expounded  by  reason. 
We  ask  what  man  is  made  for  ?  Whence  he  comes  and 
whither  he  goes }  We  lift  the  stones  of  science  one  by 
one ;  we  see  what  they  rest  upon  and  get,  if  we  can,  at  the 
very  foundations  of  things,  questioning  even  God  himself, 
whom  we  study  in  his  works  as  well  as  in  his  word." 

"  But  our  old  fellow-student  at  Stockholm,"  replied 
the  Count,  "  is  he  esfeblishing  a  new  faith,  a  new  religion, 
a  new  philosophy,  Kalm  ? 

"  Far  from  it !  He  is  only  kneading  into  the  world's 
effete  beliefs  a  leaven  of  new  principles  which  will  in  time, 
in  a  century  or  two,  or  three,  perhaps,  bring  science  and 
theology  into  perfect  harmony  and  accord  with  each  other. 

"  What  would  Diderot  and  Voltaire  say  to  this  ? "  re- 
marked the  Count ;  "  but  I  sa}  with  the  Athenians,  we  will 
hear  thee  again  on  this  matter,  Kalm."  -         '  'J 

"  Hark  1 "  exclaimed  the  B  shop,  lifting  his  hand,  "  the 
Angelus  is  ringing  from  tower  and  belfry,  and  thousands 
of  knees  are  bending  with  the  simplicity  of  little  children 
in  prayer  without  one  thought  of  theology  or  philosophy. 
Every  prayer  rising  from  a  sincere  heart,  asking  pardon 
for  the  past  and  grace  for  the  future,  is  heard  by  our  Father 
in  heaven,  think  you  not  it  is  so,  Herr  Kalm ?  "      •'-       "i 


4*4 


7W£  CHIEN  D'Ok. 


'■t  ■ 


11 


pi  \ 


M,!ii    >r"i"»j? 


"  It  is  doubtless  so,  and  I  thank  Oiu\  it  \z  «o,  my  Lord 
Bishop,"  replied  the  philosopher.      "  Solvation  is  by  th.^ 
grace  of  God,  a  truth  rarely  apprehended,  and    fleve* 
comprehended  but  by  those  who  receive  it  like  little  chi* 
dren." 

"  May  we  receive  it  so ! "  replied  the  Bishop. 

A  few  moments  were  passed  by  the  gentlemen  at  tabl* 
in  reciting  silently  the  customary  invocation  during  thf 
ringing  of  the  Angelas.  When  it  was  over,  the  compam 
resettled  themselves  at  the  table,  the  cups  were  again  re- 
plenished. 

The  governor  was  warned  by  an  ill-suppressed  yawn 
from  Rigaud  de  Vaiidreuil,  that  the  conversation  on  his 
old  classmates  at  Upsal  had  been  void  of  interest  to  the 
old  soldier,  who  hated  philosophers  as  a  brood  of  scoffing 
skeptics,  who  were  pulling  down  religion  and  would  one 
day  pull  down  the  king  and  all  France  together. 

The  silvery  smoke  rose  again  in  thin  clouds  to  the 
ceiling,  and  the  conversation  shifted  to  other  topics,  by 
chance  in  appearance,  but  really  by  a  slight  and  unobserved 
artifice  of  the  Count,  who  kindly  led  it  to  a  subject  in  which 
Rigaud  would  shine.  ,,{  ,.   ,;„       ,  ,7, 

There  is  some  topic  upon  which  every  one  is  able  to 
descant,  and  feel  his  strength.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  a 
taciturn  man  get  into  the  saddle  and  rattle  away  in  a  dust 
of  conversation  when  he  knows  the  road  and  has  no  fear 
of  a  dismount.  <  :   ■ 

»i?'  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  was  tacitu#n  as  an  Indian,  but 
seated  in  his  war  saddle  he  let  the  world  see  he  could  ride 
and  also  talk.  His  friends  loved  him  for  his  honesty  and 
his  modesty.  Nothing  was  more  delightful  than  to  draw  out 
Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  on  military  topics,  which  few  could 
talk  better  about  than  he,  and  none  had  illustrated  by  brayer 
deeds.  ■;>',•,.'-,,:  ;-      '  .  ..•. :  '  ;,     ,.   ,.  -■'■\>  ,. 

He  grew  eloquent  to-night  telling  what  had  been  done 
by  the  king's  troops  and  loyal  Indians  in  defense  of  the 
colony,  and  what  remained  unaccomplished  through  the 
remissness  of  the  court  and  the  division  of  authority  in 
New  France,  where  the  Governor  controlled  the  campaign, 
the  Commander  in  Chief  led  the  army,  and  the  Intendant 
held  the  sinews  of  war.  "  The  king  expects  victories," 
said  he,  "  and  at  ten  prices  of  our  blood,  we  gain  them 
for  him  1     But  the  king's  courtiers,  the  king's  mistresses, 


% 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4*5 


but 
ride 
and 

wout 
ould 

Iraver 


aud  all  the  crowd  of  sycophants  who  surround  the  throne, 
demand  lawless  tribute  of  the  remnant  of  our  wealth.  New 
•France  in  the  hands  of  Bigot  is  wrung  of  the  last  drop  of 
its  blood  and  the  last  doit  of  its  treasure.  The  pay  of  our 
soldiers  is  withheld,  as  in  Acadia,  where  our  victorious 
troops  had  to  pillage  their  own  countrymen  for  bread.  Was 
it  not  so,  La  Come  ?  "  added  he,  turning  to  his  old  friend 
and  comrade. 

The  smoke  was  rising  thick  and  ominous  as  from  a  fur- 
nace above  the  head  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  He  took  his 
pipe  from  his  lips  and  snapping  it  in  two,  replied,  "  It  is 
too  true,  Rigaud  !  New  France  is  doomed  to  fall  like 
Acadia,  and  will  be  broken  like  that,  unless  a  new  fire  of 
patriotism  be  kindled  in  French  hearts  at  home ;  unless  the 
nation  be  governed  by  statesmen  and  on  principles  of  honor 
and  duty,  not  by  trulls,  spendthrifts  and  philosophs !  " 

"  You  are  a  historian,  Herr  Kalm,"  continued  La  Come, 
"  I  want  you  to  write  this  in  your  book,  that  if  New  France 
be  ever  lost,  its  fall  will  be  due  neither  to  the  strength  of 
the  English,  nor  to  the  want  of  patriotism  in  our  people, 
but  because  of  the  cowardice  of  wealth,  the  decay  of  loyalty, 
the  loss  of  the  sentiment  of  national  pride  and  greatness 
in  the  mother  country.  If  France  lose  her  empire  in 
America,  it  will  be  because  she  has  not  had  spirit  to  keep 
what  her  sons  so  bravely  won.  When  a  nation  once  prefers  its 
money  to  its  blood,  its  peace  to  its  honor,  its  doom  is  sealed  1 
It  will  ere  long  have  neither  blood  nor  money  nor  honor  to 
offer  for  its  miserable  existence.  The  best  of  its  life-blood 
will  go  off  to  other  lands,  its  money  will  be  extorted  from 
it  in  tribute  to  nations  daring  enough  to  demand  it,  and 
its  honor  will  be  sunk  forever  in  the  ocean  of  national 
degradation ! " 

La  Cornd  St.  Luc  in  these  few  words  reflected  the  sen- 
timents of  nearly  every  man  of  intelligence  in  the  colony. 
They  felt  themselves  half  abandoned  and  wholly  disregarded 
by  the  mother  country,  whole  policy  the  shrewdest  of  them 
began  to  see  was  influenced  by  the  anti-colonial  teachings 
of  Voltaire,  who  afterwards  kindled  bonfires  to  celebrate 
the  defeat  of  Montcalm  and  the  loss  of  her  greatest  colony. 

Strange  to  say,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  a  century, 
a  race  of  Englishmen  has  sprung  up  as  the  successors  of 
the  Encyclopedists  of  France,  who  argue  to  deaf  ears, 
let  us  hope,  that  wealth  is  the  only  greatness  of  a  nation, 


xm'     i 


4s6 


THE  CHIEN  nOR, 


and  that  the  way  for  England  to  keep  great,  is  to  rid  her 
self  of  her  colonies,  to  alienate  millions  of  her  most  loyal 
subjects,  to  break  up  the  mightiest  elements  of  national 
strength  by  dividing  her  empire  and  casting  the  fragments 
of  it  into  the  lap  of  her  enemies.  There  are  English  Vol- 
taires  and  Diderots  who  believe  in  national  pusillanimity  and 
teach  it.  They  are  like  the  man  followed  by  wolves,  who 
cast  out  of  his  sledge  one  child  after  another,  in  hopes  of 
assuaging  the  hunger  of  his  pursuers,  and  saving  his  own 
ignoble  life  at  the  expense  of  every  feeling  of  duty  and 
manhood  to  his  children  I 

VolUire  and  the  philosophers  set  up  a  graven  image  of 
liberty  which  they  called  England,  which  true  in  itself  was 
false  in  their  conception  of  it,  and  degraded  by  the  factious 
use  they  made  of  their  ideal.  Just  so  these  English  suc- 
cessors of  Voltaire  have  set  up  a  graven  image  which  they 
call  America,  and  grovel  at  its  feet  with  a  worship  half  of 
idolatry,  half  of  fear,  but  wholly  degenerate  from  the  brave, 
independent  and  manly  spirit  of  the  English  nation. 

The  sad  foreboding  of  colonists  like  La  Corne  St.  Luc 
did  not  prevent  the  desperate  struggle  that  was  made  for 
the  preservation  of  French  dominion  in  the  next  war.  Like 
brave  and  loyal  men  they  did  their  duty  to  God  and  their 
country,  preferring  death  and  ruin  in  a  lost  cause  to  surren- 
dering the  flag  which  was  the  symbol  of  their  native  land. 
The  spiric  if  not  the  words  of  the  old  English  loyalist  was 
in  them.  » 


**J^.f.  ••/  t..  *,-  .  ^        ^ 


"  For  loyalty  is  still  the  same, 

Whether  it  win  or  Idse  the  game. 
True  as  the  dial  to  the  sun, 
Although  it  be  not  shone  upon." 


"'  New  France,  after  gathering  a  harvest  of  glory,  such  as 
America  had  never  seen  reaped  before,  fell  at  last,  through 
the  neglect  of  her  mother  country.  But  she  dragged  down 
the  nation  in  her  fall,  and  France  would  now  give  the 
apple  of  her  eye  for  the  recovery,  never  to  be,  of  "  the 
acres  of  snow,"  which  La  Pompadour  so  scornfully  aban- 
doned to  the  English.  ,  i  > . 
^  These  considerations  lay  in  the  lap  of  the  future,  how 
ever ;  they  troubled  not  the  present  time  and  company 
The  glasses  were  again  replenished  with  wine,  or  watered, 
as  the  case  might  be,  for  the  Count  de  la  Galissoni^ra 


-/ 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


4*7 


her 

loyal 
fional 
nents 
Vol- 
:y  and 
J,  who 
)es  of 
5  own 
y  and 

age  of 
;lf  was 
actions 
ih  suc- 
:h  they 
half  of 
;  brave, 

St.  Luc 
ade  for 
ir.  Liko 
id  their 

surren- 
|re  land. 

ist  was 


such  as 
through 
;d  down 
rive  the 
[of  "the 
Jly  aban- 

ire,  how 
[ompany 
Iwatered, 
lissonifere 


and  Herr  Kalm  kept  Horatian  time  and  measure,  drinking 
only  three  cups  to  the  Graces,  while  La  Come  St.  Lu6, 
and  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuii  drank  nine  full  cups  to  the  Muses, 
fearing  not  the  enemy  that  steals  away  men's  brains. 
Their  heads  were  hehneted  with  triple  brass,  and  impene- 
trable to  the  heaviest  blows  of  the  thyrsus  of  Bacchus. 
They  drank  with  impunity,  as  if  garlanded  with  parsley , 
and  while  commending  the  Bishop,  who  would  drink 
naught  save  pure  water,  they  rallied  gayly  Claude  Beau- 
harnois,  who  would  not  drinl-  at  all. 

In  the  midst  of  a  cheerful  concert  of  merriment,  the  door 
of  the  cabinet  opened,  and  the  servant  in  waiting  announced 
the  entrance  of  Colonel  Philibert.  u.nv4f;  -^yi 

All  rose  to  welcome  him.  Pierre  looked  anxious  and 
somewhat  discomposed,  but  the  warm  grasp  of  the  hands 
of  so  many  true  friends  made  him  glad  for  the  moment. 

"  Why,  Pierre ! "  exclaimed  the  Count,  "  I  hope  no  ill 
wind  has  blown  you  to  the  city  so  unexpectedly !  You  are 
heartily  welcome,  however,  and  we  will  call  every  wind 
good  that  blows  our  friends  back  to  us  again." 

"It  is  a  cursed  wind  that  blows  me  back  to-day,'* 
replied  Philibert,  sitting  down  with  an  air  of  disquiet. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Pierre  "i  "  asked  the  Count. 
"  My  honored  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  lovely  niece,  are  they 
well  ? " 

"Well,  your  Excellency,  but  sorely  troubled.  The 
devil  has  tempted  Le  Gardeur  again,  and  he  has  fallen. 
He  is  back  to  the  city,  wild  as  a  savage  and  beyond  all 
control." 

"  Good  God  1  it  will  break  his  sister's  heart !  "  said  the 
Governor,  sympathizingly.  "That  girl  would  give  her  life 
for  her  brother.  I  feel  for  her  ;  I  feel  for  you,  too,  Pierre." 
Philibert  felt  the  tight  clasp  of  the  Governor's  hand  as  he 
said  this.  He  understood  well  its  meaning.  "  And  not 
less  do  I  pity  the  unhappy  youth  who  is  the  cause  of  such 
grief  to  his  friends,"  continued  he. 

'*  Yes,  your  Excellency,  Le  Gardeur  is  to  be  pitied  as 
wCil  as  blamed.  He  has  been  jried  and  tempted  beyond 
human  strength.  u  /fvi 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  had  risen,  and  was  pacing  the  floor 
with  impatient  strides.  "  Pierre  Philibert !  "  exclaimed  he, 
"  where  is  the  poor  lad  ?  He  must  be  sought  for  and  saved 
yet.    What  demons  have  assailed  him  now  ?    Was  it  the 


4ah 


THE  CHIEN  D'OK, 


serpent  ot  strong  drink,  that  bites  men  mad,  or  the  legion 
of  fiends  that  rattle  the  dice  box  in  the  r  ears  ?  Or  was  it 
the  last  temptation — which  never  fails  when  all  else  has 
been  tried  in  vain — a  woman  ? " 

"  It  was  all  three  combined.  The  Chevalier  de  Pean 
visited  Tilly  on  business  of  the  Intendarit,  in  reality,  I  sus- 
pect, to  open  a  communication  with  Le  Gardeur,  for  he 
br'^ught  him  a  message  from  a  lady,  you  wot  of,  which 
J*-  ve  him  wild  with  excitement.  A  hundred  men 
>.,ould  not  have  restrained  Lo  Gardeur  after  that.  He 
became  infatuated  with  De  Pean,  and  drank  and  gambled 
all  night  and  all  day  with  him  at  the  village  inn,  threaten- 
ing annihilation  to  all  who  interfered  with  him.  To-day 
he  suddenly  left  Tilly,  and  has  come  with  De  Pean  to 
the  city." 

"  De  Pean !  "  exclaimed  La  Come,  "  the  spotted  snake ! 
A  fit  tool  for  the  InteiKlant's  lies  and  villainy  !  I  am  con- 
vinced he  went  not  on  his  own  errand  to  Tilly.  Bigot  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this  foul  conspiracy  to  ruin  the  noblest  lad 
in  the  colony. 

"  It  may  be,"  replied  Philibert,  "  but  the  Intendant 
alone  would  have  had  no  power  to  lure  him  back.  It  was 
the  message  of  that  artful  syren  which  has  drawn  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  again  into  the  whirlpool  of  de- 
struction." ;  1' 

"  Aye,  but  Bigot  set  her  on  him,  like  a  'retriever,  to 
bring  back  the  game  !  "  replied  La  Corne,  fully  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  his  opinion, 

'It  may  be,"  answered  Philibert ;  "but  my  impression 
is  that  she  has  influenced  the  Intendant,  rather  than  he  her, 
in  this  matter."  ■   '  :  \  ■■      •.  ;o:s. ',•;;':  j-nv:' .-i.  t;i:y,- 

'  The  Bishop  listened  with  warm  interest  to  the  account 
of  Philibert.  He  looked  a  gentle  reproof,  but  did  not  utter 
it,  at  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  and  Philibert,  for  their  outspoken 
denunciation  of  the  Intendant.  He  knew — none  knew 
better — how  deserved  it  was ;  but  his  ecclesiastical  rank 
placed  him  at  the  apex  of  all  parties  in  the  colony,  and 
taught  him  prudence  in  expressing  or  hearing  opinions  of 
the  King's  representatives  in  the  colony. 

"  But  what  have  you  done,  Pierre  Philibert  ? "  asked 
the  Bishop,  "  since  your  arrival ;  have  you  seen  Le  Gar» 
deur?" 

"  No,  my  Lord ;  I  followed  him  and  the  Chevalier  to 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


449 


the  city.  They  have  gone  to  the  Palace,  whither  I  went, 
and  got  admittance  to  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant.  Ho 
received  me  in  his  politest  and  blandest  manner.  I  asked 
an  interview  with  Le  Gardeur.  Bigot  told  me  that  my 
friend  unfortunately  at  that  moment  was  unfit  to  be  seen, 
and  had  refused  himself  to  all  his  city  friends.  I  partly 
believed  him,  for  I  heard  the  voice  of  Le  Gardeur  in  a 
distant  room,  amid  a  babble  of  tongues  and  i  ie  rattle  of 
dice.  I  sent  him  a  card  with  a  few  kind  words,  and  re- 
ceived it  back  with  an  insult — deep  and  damning — scrawled 
upon  it.  It  was  not  written,  however  in  the  hand  of  Le 
Gardeur,  although  signed  by  his  name.  Read  that,  your 
Excellency,"  said  he,  throwing  a  card  to  the  Count.  "  I 
will  not  repeat  the  foul  expressions  it  contains.  Tell  Pierre 
Philibert  what  he  should  do  to  save  his  honor  and  save  his 
friend.  Poor,  wild,  infatuated  Le  Gardeur  never  wrote 
that — never !  They  have  made  him  sign  his  name  to  he 
knew  not  what." 

"  And,  by  St.  Martin ! "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  who 
looked  at  the  card,  "  some  of  them  shall  bite  dust  for  that  I 
As  fo.  Le  Gardeur,  poor  boy,  overlook  his  fault — pity  him, 
for  'ive  hi^i.  He  is  not  so  much  to  blame,  Pierre,  as  those 
p'  ..idering  thieves  of  the  Friponne,  who  shall  find  that  La 
Corne  St.  Luc's  sword  is  longer  by  half  an  ell  than  is  good 
for  some  of  their  stomachs ! "  '        ■         /    i    h      .: 

"  Forbear,  dear  friends,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  It  is  not 
the  way  of  Christians  to  talk  thus." 

"  But  it  is  the  way  of  gentlemen  !  "  replied  La  Corne, 
impatiently,  "  and  I  always  hold  th&t  a  true  gentleman  is  a 
true  Christian,  But  you  do  your  duty,  my  Lord  Bishop,  in 
reproving  us,  and  I  honor  you  for  it,  although  I  may  not 
promise  obedience.  David  fought  a  duel  with  Goliah,  and 
was  honored  by  God  and  man  for  it,  was  he  not  ? " 

"  But  he  fought  it  not  in  his  own  quarrel,  La  Corne," 
replied  the  Bishop  gently,  "  Goliah  had  defied  the  armies 
of  the  living  God  and  David  fought  for  his  king,  rot  for 
himself." 

"  Confiteor  !  my  lord  Bishop,  but  the  logic  of  the  heart 
is  often  truer  than  the  logic  of  the  head,  and  the  sword 
has  no  raison  d^etre^  except  in  purging  the  world  of 
scoundrels." 

"  I  will  go  home  now,  I  will  see  your  Excellency  again 
on  this  matter,"  said  Pierre,  rising  to  depart 


"i!; 


45* 


TAE  CHI  EN  jyoH. 


"  Do,  Pierre  !  my  utmost  services  are  at  your  coiih 
mand,"  said  the  Governor,  as  the  guests  all  rose  too.  It  waa 
very  late. 

The  hour  of  departure  had  arrived,  the  company  all 
rose  and,  courteously  bidding  their  host  good  night,  pro- 
ceeded to  their  several  homes,  leaving  him  alone  with  his 
friend  Kalm. 

They  two  at  once  passed  into  a  little  museum  of 
minerals,  plants,  birds  and  animals,  where  they  sat  down, 
eager  as  two  boy  students.  The  world,  its  battles  and  its 
politics  were  utterly  forgotten,  as  thej;  conversed  far  into 
the  night  and  examined  with  the  delight  of  new  discoverers, 
the  beauty  and  varietv  of  nature's  forms  that  exist  in  the 
New  World. 


fli{ 

r,7-    -T,. 

h)  .u.. 

^  '•.' 

'rf    .:.' 

l\^ 

■'iJ;  •(::)-■ 

Af' 

'/■       -f    I!. -J 

CHAPTER  XL. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


The  Chevalier  De  Pean  had  been  but  too  successful 
in  his  errand  of  mischief  to  the  Manor  House  of  Tilly. 

A  few  days  had  sufficed  for  this  accomplished 
ambassador  of  Bigot  to  tempt  Le  Gardeur  to  his  ruin,  and 
to  triumph  in  his  fall. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  the  Seigneurie,  De  Pean  had  chosen 
to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  village  inn,  in  preference  to 
accepting  the  proffered  hospitality  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whom  however  he  had  frequently  to  see,  having  been 
craftily  commissioned  by  Bigot  with  the  settlement  of 
some  important  matters  of  business  relating  to  her 
Seigneurie,  as  a  pretext  to  visit  the  Manor  House  and  linger 
in  the  village  long  enough  to  renew  his  old  familiarity 
with  Le  Gardeur. 

The  visits  of  De  Pean  to  the  Manor  House  were  politely 
but  not  cordially  received.  It  was  only  by  reason  of  the 
business  he  came  upon  that  he  was  received  at  all.  Never- 
theless he  paid  his  court  to  the  ladies  of  the  manor,  as  a 
gentleman  anxious  to  remove  their  prejudices  and  win 
their  good  opinion.  >,  -        ;;,,,  i  • 

He  once  and  but  once,  essayed  to  approach  Am^ie 


THE  \:OUTUMR  DE  PARIS, 


43> 


with  gallantry,  a  hair  breadth  only  beyond  the  rigid 
boundary  line  of  ordinary  politeness,  when  he  received  a 
repulse  so  quick,  so  unspoken  and  invisible  that  he 
could  not  tell  in  what  it  consisted,  yet  he  felt  it  like  a  sud- 
den paralysis  of  his  powers  of  pleasing.  He  cared  not 
again  to  encounter  the  quick  glance  of  contempt  and 
aversion,  which  for  an  instant  flashed  in  the  eyes  of 
Am^lie,  when  she  caught  the  drift  of  his  untimely  admira- 
tion. 

A  woman  is  never  so  Rhadamanthean  in  her  justice, 
and  so  quick  ih  her  execution  of  it,  as  when  she  is  proud 
and  happy  in  her  love  for  another  man.  She  is  then 
indignant  at  every  suggestion  implying  any  doubt  of  the 
strength,  purity,  and  absoluteness  of  her  devotion. 

De  Pean  ground  his  teeth  in  silent  wrath  at  this  quiet 
but  unequivocal  repulse,  and  vowed  a  bitter  vow  that 
Amdlie  should  ere  long  repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for 
the  wound  inflicted  upon  his  vanity  and  still  more  upon 
his  cupidity.  '"   *" 

One  of  the  day  dreams  of  his  fancy  was  broken  never 
to  return.  The  immense  fortune  and  high  rank  of  the 
young  Chatelaine  de  Repentigny  had  excited  the  cupidity 
of  De  Pean  for  some  time,  and  although  the  voluptuous 
beauty  of  Angdlique  fastened  his  eyes,  he  would  willingly 
have  sacrificed  her  for  the  reversion  of  the  lordships  of 
Tilly  and  Repentigny. 

De  Pean's  soul  was  too  small  to  bear  with  equanimity 
the  annihilation  of  his  cherished  hopes.  As  he  looked 
down  upon  his  white  hands,  his  delicate  feet  and  irre- 
proachable dress  and  manner,  he  seemed  not  to  compre- 
hend that  a  true  woman  like  Am^lie  cares  nothing  for 
these  things  in  comparison  with  a  manly  nature  that  seeks 
a  woman  for  her  own  sake  by  love,  and  in  love,  and  not 
by  the  accessories  of  wealth  and  position.  For  such  a  one 
she  would  go  barefoot  if  need  were,  while  golden  slippers 
would  not  tempt  her  to  walk  with  the  other. 

Amdlie's  beau  ideal  of  manhood  was  embodied  in 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  the  greatest  king  in  Christendom 
would  have  wooed  in  vain  at  her  feet,  much  less  an  empty 
pretender  like  the  Chevalier  de  Pean. 

"I  would  n5t  have  treated  any  gentleman  so  rudely, 
said  Amdlie,  in  confidence  to  Heloise  de  T.otbinibre,  when 
they  bad  retired  to  the  privacy  of  their  bed  ;hamber.  **  No 


^■■. 


»» 


t: 


43a 


yy/ii'  CHI  EN  DOR. 


woman  is  justified  in  showing  scorn  of  any  man's  love,  if 
it  be  honest  and  true ;  but  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  is  false  to 
the  heart's  core,  and  his  presuinptioii  woke  such  an 
aversion  in  my  heart,  that  I  fear  my  eyes  showed  less 
than  ordinary  politeness  to  his  unexpected  advances." 

"  You  were  too  gentle,  not  too  harsh,  Am^lie,"  replied 
Heloise,  with  her  arm  round  her  friend.  *  Had  I  been 
the  object  of  his  hateful  addresses  I  should  have  repaid  him 
in  his  own  false  coin.  I  would  have  led  him  on  to  the 
brink  of  the  precipice  of  a  confession  and  an  offer,  and 
then  1  would  have  dropped  him  as  one  drops  a  stone  into 
the  deep  pool  of  the  Chaudifere." 

"You  were  always  more  bold  than  I,  Heloise,  I  could 
not  do  that  for  the  world,"  replied  Amdlie.  "  I  would  not 
willingly  offend  even  the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  Moreover  I 
fear  him,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  why,  darling.  That  man 
posesses  a  power  over  my  dear  brother  that  makes  me 
tremble,  and  in  my  anxiety  for  Le  Gardeur,  I  may  have 
lingered,  as  I  did  yesterday,  too  long  in  the  parlor  when 
in  company  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  who  mistaking  my 
motive,  may  have  supposed  that  I  hated  not  his  presence 
so  much  as  I  truly  did  ! " 

"  Amdlie,  your  fears  are  my  own !  "  exclaimed  Heloise, 
pressing  Am^lie  to  her  side.  "  I  must,  I  will  tell  you !  O 
loved  sister  of  mine  !  let  me  call  you  so  !  To  you  alone,  I 
dare  acknowledge  my  hopeless  love  for  Le  Gardeur,  and 
my  deep  and  abiding  interest  in  his  welfare." 

"  Nay,  do  not  say  hopeless,  Heloise  I  "  replied  Amdlie, 
kissing  her  fondly.  "  Le  Gardeur  is  not  insensible  to  your 
beauty  and  goodness.  He  is  too  like  myself  not  to  love 
you." 

"Alas!  Am^lie!  I  know  it  is  all  in  vain.  I  have 
neither  beauty  nor  other  attractions  in  his  eyes.  He 
left  me  yesterday  to  converse  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean 
on  the  subject  of  Angdlique  des  Meloises,  and  I  saw  by 
the  agitation  of  his  manner,  the  flush  upon  his  cheek,  and 
the  eagerness  of  his  questioning,  that  he  cared  more  for 
Ang^lique,  notwithstanding  her  reported  engagement  with 
the  Iptendant,  than  L:'  did  for  a  thousand  Heloises  de 
Lotbiniferes  ! " 

The  poor  girl,  overpo.v^red  by  the  recollection,  hid  hei 
fiu:e  upon  the  shoulder  of  Amdlie,  and  sobbed  as  if  hei 
very  heart  were  breaking: ;  as  in  truth  it  was.      ,   ;  .^  :^._ 


THE  COCTUME  DE  PARIS, 


4SS 


Amdlie,  so  happy  an<l  secure  in  her  own  aflfection, 
comforted  Heloise  with  her  tears  and  caresses,  but  it  was 
only  by  picturing;  in  her  imagination,  her  own  state,  should 
she  be  so  hapless  as  to  lose  the  love  of  Pierre  Philibert, 
that  she  could  realize  the  depth  of  misery  and  abandon- 
ment  which  filled  the  bosom  of  her  fair  companion. 

She  was  moreover  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  words  of 
Heloise,  rej^arding  the  eagerness  of  her  brother  to  get 
word  of  Angelique.  **  The  Chevalier  de  Pean  might  have 
brought  a  message,  perhaps  a  love  token  from  Angdlique 
to  Le  Gardeur,  to  draw  him  back  to  the  city,"  thought  she. 
If  so,  she  felt  instinctively  that  all  their  efforts  to  redeem 
him  would  be  in  vain,  and  that  neither  sister's  love,  nor 
Pierre's  remonstrances  would  avail  to  prevent  his  return. 
He  was  the  slave  of  the  lamp,  and  Angdlique  its. posses- 
sor. 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  Heloise,"  she  said  faintly,  "  Le 
Gardeur  is  lost  if  he  return  to  the  city  now  !  Twice  lost  I 
lost  as  a  gentleman,  lost  as  the  lover  of  a  woman  who 
cares  for  him  only  as  a  pastime,  and  as  a  foil  to  her 
ambitious  designs  upon  the  Intendant!  Poor  Le  Gardeur! 
what  happiness  might  not  be  his,  in  the  love  of  a  woman, 
noble  minded  as  himself !  What  happiness  were  he  yours, 
O  darling  Heloise !  "  She  kissed  her  pallid  cheeks,  wet 
with  tears,  which  lay  by  hers  on  the  same  pillow,  and  both 
remained  silently  brooding  over  the  thoughts  which  spring 
from  love  and  sorrow. 

"  Happiness  can  never  be  mine,  Am<flie,"  said  Heloise, 
after  a  lapse  of  several  minutes.  "  I  have  long  feared  it, 
now  I  know  it.  Le  Gardeur  loves  Angdlique  ;  he  is  wholly 
hers  and  not  one  little  corner  of  his  heart  is  left  for  poor 
Heloise  to  nestle  in !  I  did  not  ask  much,  Amdlie,  but  I 
have  not  retained  the  little  interest  I  believed  was  once 
mine  I  He  has  thrown  the  v/hole  treasure  of  his  life  at  her 
feet.  After  playing  with  it,  she  will  spurn  it  for  a  more 
ambitious  alliance  !  O  !  Amdlie !  "  exclaimed  she  with 
vivacity,  "  I  could  be  wicked  !  Heaven  forgive  me  1  I  could 
be  cruel  and  without  pity  to  save  Le  Gardeur  from  the 
wiles  of  such  a  woman  !  "  " 

The  night  was  a  stormy  one,  the  east  wind  which  had 
lain  in  a  dead  lull  through  the  early  hours  of  the  eyening 
rose  in  all  its  strength  at  the  turn  of  the  tide.  It  came 
bounding  like  the  distant  hud  of  a  cannon.     It  roared  and 

28 


434 


THE  ClllEN  D'OR. 


rattled  aft.'iinst  the  windows  and  casements  of  the  Manoi 
House,  sounding  a  deep  bas6  in  the  lon^  chimneyi 
and  howling  like  souls  in  torment,  amid  the  distant 
woods.  r^    •.-.' 

The  rain  swept  down  in  torrents  as  if  the  windows  of 
heaven  were  opened  to  wash  away  the  world's  defilements. 
The  stout  walls  of  the  Manor  House  were  immovable  as 
rocks,  but  the  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  noise  of  the  storm 
stiuck  an  awe  into  the  two  girls.  They  crept  closer  together 
in  their  bed  ;  they  dared  not  separate  for  the  night.  The 
storm  seemed  too  much  the  reflex  of  the  agitation  of  their 
own  minds,  and  tiiey  lay  clasped  in  e^ch  others  arms 
mingling  their  tears  and  prayers  for  Le  Gardeur  until  the 
gray  dawn  looked  over  the  eastern  hill  and  they  slept. 

The  Chevalier  de  Pean  was  faithful  to  the  mission 
upon  wfiich  he  had  been  dispatched  to  Tilly.  He  disliked 
intensely  the  return  of  Le  Gardeur  to  renew  his  old  ties 
with  Angt^lique.  Ikit  it  was  his  fate,  his  cursed  crook,  he 
called  it,  ever  to  be  overborne  by  some  woman  or  other, 
and  h^  resolved  that  Le  Gardeur  should  pay  for  it  with  his 
money  and  be  so  flooded  by  wine  and  debauchery  that 
Angdlique  herself  would  repent  that  she  had  ever  invited 
his  return. 

That  she  would  not  marry  Le  Gardeur  was  plain  enough 
to  De  Pean  who  knew  her  ambitious  views  regarding  the 
Intendant,  and  that  the  Intendant  would  not  marry  her 
was  equally  a  certainty  to  him,  although  it  did  not  pre  vent 
De  Pean's  entertaining  an  iutcnse  jealousy  of  Bigot. 

Despite  discouraging  prospects,  he  found  a  consolation 
in  the  reflection  that  failing  his  own  vain  efforts  to  please 
Amdlie  de  Repentigny  for  sake  of  her  wealth  ;  the  woman 
he  most  loved  for  sake  of  her  beauty  and  spirit,  would  yet 
drop  like  a  golden  fleece  into  his  arms,  either  through 
spite  at  her  false  lover  or  through  love  of  himself.  De 
Pean  cared  little  which,  for  it  was  the  person  not  the  in- 
clination of  Angdlique,  that  carried  away  captive  the  ad- 
miration of  the  Chevalier  De  Pean. 

The  better  to  accomplish  his  crafty  design  of  abducting 
Le  Gardeur,  De  Pean  had  taken  up  his  lodging  at  the 
village  inn.  He  knew  that  in  the  polite  hospitalities  of 
ihe  Manor  House  he  could  find  few  opportunities  to  work 
upon  the  susceptible  nature  of  Le  Gardeur,  that  too  many 
loving  eyes  would  there  watch  over  his  safety,  and  th^t  he 


THE  COUTUMR  Dh  PA/ilS. 


435 


iras  himself  suspected  and  his  presence  only  tolerated  on 
account  of  the  business  which  had  ostensibly  brought  him 
there.  At  the  inn,  he  would  be  free  to  work  out  his 
schemes  sure  of  success,  if  by  any  means  and  on  any  pre- 
tense he  could  draw  Le  Gardeur  thither,  and  rouse  into 
life  and  fury  the  sleepin<jj  serpents  of  his  old  propensities, 
the  love  of  gaming,  the  love  of  wine,  and  the  love  of 
Ang^lique.  *    '  ; 

Could  Le  Gardeur  be  persuaded  to  drink  a  full  measure 
to  the  bright  eyes  of  Angt5lique  dcs  Meloiscs,  and  could  he 
when  the  tire  was  kindled  be  tempted  once  more  to  take 
in  hand  the  box  more  fatal  than  that  of  Pandora,  and  place 
fortune  on  the  turn  of  a  die,  De  Pean  knew  well  that  no 
power  on  earth  could  stov  the  conflagration  of  every  good 
resolution  and  every  virtuous  principle  in  his  mind.  Neither 
Aunt,  nor  Sister,  nor  Friends,  could  withhold  him  then! 
He  would  return  to  the  city  where  the  Gr^nd  Company  had 
a  use  to  make  of  him,  which ie  would  'ever  understand 
until  it  was  too  late  for  aught  but  repent  ince. 

De  Pean  pondered  long  upop  a  few  words  e  had  one 
day  heard  drop  from  the  lips  of  oigj>t,  which  meant  more- 
much  more  than  they  seemeu  to  imply,  and  they  flitted 
long  through  his  memory  like  bats  in  a  room  seeking  an 
outlet  into  the  night  ominous  of  some  deed  of  darkness. 

De  Pean  imagined  that  he  had  found  a  way  to  revenge 
himself  upon  Le  Gardeur  and  Amdlie — each  for  thwarting 
him  in  a  scheme  of  love  or  fortune.  He  brooded  long  and 
malignantly  how  to  hatch  the  plot  which  he  fancied  was 
his  own,  but  which  had  really  been  conceived  in  the  deeper 
brain  of  Bigot,  whose  few  seemingly  harmless  words  had 
dropped  into  the  ear  •  »f  De  Pean,  casually  as  it  were,  but, 
which  Bigot  knew  wc  iJ  take  root  and  grow  in  the  con- 
genial soul  of  his  secretary  and  one  day  bring  forth  terri- 
ble fruit. 

The  next  day  was  wet  and  autumnal,  with  a  sweeping 
cast  wind  which  blew  raw  and  gustily  over  the  dark  grass 
and  drooping  trees  that  edged  the  muddy  lane  of  the  vil- 
lage of  Tilly. 

The  water  courses  were  full  and  yellow  with  the  wash- 
ing of  frequent  showers.  The  sky  was  dark — the  heavily 
laden  clouds  scarcely  rose  above  the  level  of  the  horizon. 
They  trailed  their  ragged  skirts  of  mist  over  the  tree  tops 
and  hill-sides — while  the  river  hardly  visible  in  the  fog 


ki   .    .;  ■^■ 


iff;. 


436 


7V/£  CUIEN  UOR. 


mingled  a  hoarse  roar  of  waves  from  its  stony  beach,  wiUi 
the  continuous  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  rain  on  shore. 

The  grey  church  upon  the  point  of  Tilly  was  shrouded 
in  still  greyer  mist.  The  soimd  of  the  vesper  bell  rung  by 
the  lonely  Sexton  was  scarcely  heard  in  the  village,  and 
few  obeyed  its  summons  that  day ;  preferring  a  penance  for 
not  going  to  Church  to  the  risk  of  a  wet  skin  and  drabbled 
garments.  It  was  not  easy  in  such  weather  to  ascend  the 
miry  road  up  the  steep  hill  worthy  to  be  called  the  hill 
Difficulty  which  led  from  the  low  lying  village  to  the  Parish 
Church. 

The  few  houses  in  the  village  were  very  quiet,  all  the 
little  world  of  life  had  taken  refuge  indoors,  or  under 
cover.  The  steaming  cattle  shivered  together  under  sheds 
and  in  fence  corners.  The  strutting  poultry  had  long 
since  drooped  their  wet  feathers  and  perched  disconsolate 
enough  in  barn  and  stable.  Even  the  lately  clamorous 
ducks  and  ^eese  seemed  t%  have  had  enough  of  it,  and 
stood  in  one-legged  quiet  contemplation  of  the  little  pools 
of  water  foaming  and  bubbling  about  them,  which  would 
be  pools  of  delight  to  them  for  many  a  day  to  come. 

The  figure  of  a  woman  with  a  shawl  or  cloak  thrown 
hastily  over  her  head,  tripping  lightly  through  the  mud  as 
she  hurried  to  or  from  a  neighbor's  house,  was  the  only 
sign  of  inhabitants  about  the  village,  except  at  the  old- 
fashioned  inn,  with  its  low  covered  gallery  and  swinging 
sign  of  the  Tilly  Arms. 

There  flitting  round  the  door,  or  occasionally  peering 
through  the  windows  of  the  tap  room  with  pipes  in  their 
mouths  and  perchance  a  tankard  in  their  hands,  were  seen 
the  elders  of  the  village,  boatmen,  and  habitans,  making 
use  or  good  excuse  of  a  rainy  day  for  a  social  gathering  in 
the  dry  snug  chimney  corner  of  the  Tilly  Arms. 

In  the  warmest  corner  of  all,  his  face  aglow  with  fire^ 
light  and  good  liquor,  sat  Master  Pothier  dit  Robin,  v/ith 
his  gown  tucked  up  to  his  waist  as  he  toasted  his  legs  and 
old  gamashes  in  the  genial  warmth  of  a  bright  fire. 
-  Opposite  him  bursting  with  stories  of  the  late  riot  in 
the  city,  and  of  the  destruction  of  his  fiddle  by  the  Intend- 
ant,  sat  Jean  La  Marche,  nursing  a  new  violin  on  his  lap 
tenderly  as  a  ten  days*  old  baby,  and  taking  the  word  out 
of  every  body's  mouth  as  was  his  custom,  in  his  good- 
natured  eagerness  to  have  his  say,  whoever  was  speaking. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


43? 


A  feat  rather  difficult  to-night,  for  Master  Pothier  was 
tremendous  on  a  string  of  talk.  His  law  phrases  and  dog 
Latin  overrode  the  voluble  recitals  of  Jean,  who  had 
his  revenge,  however,  for  when  fairly  out-talked  and  hard 
pressed  by  argument,  he  would  take  out  his  violin  and, 
striking  up  a  lively  air,  bring  all  the  listeners  to  his  side  and 
force  Master  Pothier  to  a  new  trial.  /  •  -v.  '(^v^i  n  ■^'  v? 
•  Half  a  dozen  worth  es  of  the  village  in  red  Breton  caps 
were  at  once  audience  and  chorus  to  Miisler  Pothier  and 
Jean  La  Marche  ;  they  were  all  censitaires  of  the  house  of 
Tilly,  proud  of  their  lady,  cheerful  payers  of  her  feudal 
dues,  and  equally  fond  of  disputing  them  point  by  point,  for 
the  sake  of  a  good  wrangle,  with  their  Lady's  steward,  the 
grave  and  consequential  Master  Cot^.  .     i     r 

The  arrival  of  Master  Pothier  in  the  course  of  his 
rounds  as  a  travelling  Notary,  was  an  event  quite  as  in- 
teresting to  the  men,  as  the  arrival  of  the  cheerful  old 
RecoUets  was  to  the  women  of  the  village  of  Tilly. 

Master  Pothier  with  his  budget  of  law  papers,  had  hardly 
installed  himself  in  his  old  seat  in  the  chimney  corner,  be* 
fore  the  news  of  his  arrival  was  flying  round  the  seigneurie, 
and  a  dozen  of  would-be  litigants,  were  drawing  themselves 
up  an  inch  taller,  in  the  prospect  of  a  good  bout  at  cheap 
law  with  neighbors  as  fond  of  it  as  themselves. 

A  year's  accumulation  of  petty  quarrels  and  verbal 
contracts,  waiting  to  be  put  in  black  and  white  as  they 
expressed  it,  were  ready  for  the  manipulation  of  Master 
Pothier.  Sick  men  had  deferred  dying  until  the  travelling 
Notary  came  round  to  draw  their  wills.  Impatient  couples 
were  not  allowed  by  prudent  parents  to  marry,  no  matter 
how  high  the  torch  of  Cupid  was  flaring,  until  a  proper  con- 
tract on  thick  paper,  with  a  good  blotch  of  sealing  wax 
upon  it,  had  been  duly  executed  under  the  notarial  hand 
of  Master  Pothier. 

The  old  Notary  knew  well  how  to  extract  his  fees  from 
the  close-fisted  habitansy  notwithstanding  their  inveterate 
habit  of  driving  hard  bargains  for  their  law  as  for  any  other 
commodity  they  needed. 

"  How  much,  Master  Pothier,  will  you  charge  me  for 
scribbling  off  an  acte  de  damnation  1 "  asked  Louis  Du 
Sol.  He  meant  to  say  an  acte  de  donation,  of,  "  a  reason- 
able pig,  in  return  for  the  use  of  a  little  field  down  by  the 
mill."    Master  Pothier  understood  him  all  the  same,  and 


i :  i 


«I8 


THE  CMBtf  If  OR. 


■Si     ? 

'5  "; 


probably  thought  there  was  usually  not  much  difference  !■ 
either  the  thing  or  the  name. 

"  With  a  seal  upon  it,  Master  Louis  ?  "  asked  Master 
Pothier  with  a  very  judicial  air. 

"Yes,  Master  Pothier,  with  a  sen!  upon  it,  all  complete." 
Master  Pothier  rubbed  his  wig  for  a  minute,  very  grave- 
ly.  "  It  will  cost  you  five  livres  to  make  a  tight  and  sure 
acte  de  damnation^^^  said  he.  "  A  middling  one  with  not 
more  than  two  or  three  holes  to  creep  out  at,  will  -^ost  you 
three  livres,  a  very  common  one  that  will  hold  nothing  and 
nobody,  I  will  give  you  for  a  franc.  So  you  take  your 
choice,  Master  Louis  !  "  The  habitant  thought  the  cheap 
and  common  one  good  enough  to  give  away.  At  any  rate, 
it  left  his  hands  as  free  as  the  other  party's  to  the  contract, 
to  raise  a  glorious  cavil,  and  so  lead  to  the  luxury  of  a  law- 
suit over  the  acte  de  damnation. 

Conversation  in  the  presence  of  Master  Pothier,  ever 
took  a  litigious  turn.  His  wallet  smelled  of  law  as  natu- 
rally as  a  Doctor's  smells  of  drugs.  ''  '  ■  ''- 
^  The  censitaires  of  Tilly  were  happy  in  their  feudal  re- 
lations with  the  noble  Lady  of  the  Manor,  but  true  Nor- 
mans as  they  were,  they  loved  to  exercise  their  wits  upon 
quibbles,  and  points  of  the  coutumes  of  Paris  and  Rouen, 
which  applied  to  their  land  tenures  and  other  dealings  with 
their  Lady. 

They  admitted  cheerfully  the* r  obligations  to  pay  cens 
and  rentes^  some  five  farthings  per  arpent,  for  lands  in  the 
Lordship  of  Tilly,  which  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  had  as 
regularly  returned  to  them,  for  several  years  past,  on  ac- 
count of  the  hard  times  in  the  colony ;  but  that  did  not 
prevent  their  envying  the  lot  of  the  happier  censitaires  of 
Brille,  who,  annually  on  their  rent  day,  went  in  procession 
to  the  chateau  of  their  Lord,  with  their  largest  wagon 
drawn  by  six  horses  superbly  harnessed,  conveying  one 
pepper  corn  to  their  Lord  as  the  full  rent  due  for  their 
lands,  and  who  had  to  treat  his  loyal  vassals  with  a  great 
least  into  the  bargain  ! " 

The  banality  of  the  old  mill  of  Tilly  which  grousid  the 
corn  of  the  Seigneurie  for  nothing,  except  a  few  handfuis 
out  of  each  Minot^  given  as  toll  to  the  miller,  was  a  stand- 
ing subject  of  controversy  among  the  sharp  wits  of  the 
village,  as  to  whether  the  handfuis  were  single  as  some 
argued,  or  double  as  claimed  by  old  Joachi-ai  the  miller. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS 


439 


The  Lady  of  the  Manor  kept  down  her  stock  of  doves 
in  the  great  colombiere,  feeding  them  carefully  at  home  to 
prevent  their  flying  abroad  to  pick  in  the  cornfields  of  the 
habitans^  but  the  number  she  might  keep  and  the  number 
her  censitaires  might  be  required  to  feed,  formed  a  problem 
in  feudal  arithmetic,  that  often  filled  the  table  top,  and  the 
inn  door  itself,  with  chalk  marks  of  interminable  calcula- 
tions equalled  at  last  by  the  landlord's  score  of  r  .gs  of 
cider  drank  to  the  health  of  the  good  Lady  of  the  ylanor, 
while  they  were  disputing  her  rights. 

"  My  Lady  may,  by  the  coutumc  of  Rouen  I  "  exclaimed 
Master  Pothier,  "  build  a  colombiere  that  will  feed  all  the 
Seigneury  as  well  as  eat  it  up.  It  is  her  right,  and  as  our 
good  Lady,  she  may  exercise  it  if  she  will." 

"  You  may  as  well  tell  me  Master  Pothier  I  "  replied 
Jean  La  Marche  as  the  defender  of  popular  rights,  "  that 
the  Droit  de  Gretiouillage  is  in  the  Manor  of  Tilly  as  it  is 
in  the  Lordship  of  Marais  Le  Grand." 

"  I  do  tell  you  so,  Jean  La  Marche  I  "  replied  Master 
Pothier.  "  It  is  inherent  in  all  Norman  fiefs !  only  there  are 
no  frog  ponds  at  Tilly,  else  would  the  vassals  be  bound  to 
beat  them  with  long  poles  all  the  night  preceding  the 
marriage  of  their  Lord,  crying ; 

'     ■  »    1  ?  ■•  ' 

•  Pa !  Pa !  rainotte,  Pa  I  -    c ; 

Notre  Seigneur  dort,  que  Dieu  g4  I  *  -  / , ; 


to  enable  their  Lord  to  sleep  soundly,  and  be  strong  and 
vigorous  for  the  morrow." 

"Aye,  that  is  a  sensible  custom  !  one  can  syrr.pathize 
with  that  I  "  replied  Jean.  "  Were  you  ever  married,  Master 
Pothier?" 

"  I  married  ?  Jean  La  Marche  !  "  Master  Pothier  gave 
a  scornful  laugh.  "  Ha,  Ha  I  The  idea  !  No,  no  !  I 
knew  too  much  law  for  that  1  What  .-*  When  there  is  not 
a  seigneur  in  New  France,  but  has  the  right  of  jambagt 
inherent  in  his  Lordship  by  the  ancient  coutumes  of  Nor- 
mandy, and  for  aught  I  could  plead  in  bar  would  exercise 
it  in  case  Master  Pothier  took  a  wife  1  No,  Jean  La 
Marche  1  you  may  marry  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  write 
you  a  marriage  contract  as  broad  as  your  wedding  sheet, 
but  do  not  ask  me  to  adorn  my  brows  with  even  invisible 
antlers  i " 


'•  'i  a- 


■I' 


ri/£  CHIEN  lyok. 


**  Aye,  but  they  say  our  Seigneurs  have  lost  the  right 
of  j'amhage.  More  the  pity,  say  our  penniless  maids,  who 
never  married  without  a  nice  dower  in  the  good  old  times," 
replied  Jean,  looking  round  the  company  for  support  in 
his  regret,  ■>-•>-■-.>•:. v.»..^'-/iu/  i»rt 

"  Bati  1 "  exclaimed  Nicholas  Houdin,  a  staring  habi- 
tant "  I  have  lived  in  Tilly  three-score  years,  and  I  never 
heard  that  our  noble  Seigneurs  had  the  right  of  jambage" 

"It  as  \}[i^  possibilities  of  the  law.  Master  Houdin  !  " 
replied  Pothier, — "  not  its  actuality — I  referred  to." 

Nicholas  Houdin,  not  comprehending  the  law  Latin,  as 
he  regarded  the  reply  of  Master  Pothier,  said,  "  Oh,  yes  I " 
and  resumed  his  stare  of  wonder  at  the  vast  learning  of 
the  worthy  notary. 

"Well,  we  need  not  mind  iboui jambage  in  Tilly, where 
we  are  ruled  by  a  lady,  and  not  by  a  lord  !  I  drink  her 
health  before  all  the  company,"  exclaimed  Jean  La 
Marche,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to 
the  action,  as  well  as  if  he  had  received  advice  from 
Hamlet. 

"  I  join  in  the  health  of  our  noble  lady,  with  all  my 
heart ! "  replied  Master  Pothier ;  "  but  you  do  not  catch 
me  with  that  hook,  Jean  La  Marche  !  A  lady  may  depute 
her  right  oijambage  to  her  heir  in  the  barony,  as  is  proved 
by  Arrets  in  the  Court  of  Bourges.  Respect  the  law,  there- 
fore, Jean  La  Marche." 

"  I  do.  Master  Pothier !  and  I  want  some  of  it  for  my 
self.  You  know  my  poor  Fifine  took  a  cold  and  died  last 
winter.  She  has  left  a  buxom  sister  in  the  flesh,  whom  I 
wish  to  marry.  The  Curd  says  :  *  No ! '  The  woman  says : 
*  Oh ! '  Now  what  says  the  law  ?  Is  it  permissible  to  marry 
your  wife's  sister  ?  " 


i.V,\\Xt\' 


Master  Pothier  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  war-hors6  at 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  Here  was  a  case  to  come  down 
upon  !  The  rustics  clustered  round,  for  everybody  in  the 
village  knew  poor  Jem's  wants  and  wishes.  The  men  jeered 
him,  the  women  sympathized  with  him.  Master  Pothier 
put  on  his  old  cap  a  mortier^  and  cried  out :  "  Do  you  want 
to  be  hanged,  Jean  La  Marche  ?  Marry  your  wife's  sister, 
and  you  will  be  condemned  to  be  trussed  up,  by  all  the 
laws  of  the  Imperium  !  " 

"  What  1  do  you  mean  to  say  they  will  hang  me.  Master 
Pothier,  if  I  marry  my  life's  sister  ?    The  sexton  says  it 


TltE  COCTUME  DE  PARIS, 


44» 


right 

},  who 
imes," 
K)rt  in 

rhkbl- 

never 

idin  I " 

atin,  as 
,yesl» 
ling  of 

r,  where 
ink  her 
an  La 
vord  to 
:e  from 

all  my 
>t  catch 
T  depute 
,  proved 
V,  there- 
for my 
ied  last 
whom  I 
m  says : 
;o  marry 

liorse  at 
le  down 
in  the 
i  jeered 
[Pothier 
Jou  want 
Is  sister, 
all  the 

Master 
says  it 


would  be  polygamy  even  in  the  churchyard  for  a  man  to 
have  two  wives  lying  there.     Would  it  ?  ** 

"  Hang  you  ?  yes  !  and  polygamy  is  a  hanging  matter, 
and  your  case  for  merely  thinking  of  it  is  first  cousin  to 
the  gallows  ! " 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Mister  Pothier  1  Who  are  your  au- 
thorities ?  "  Jean  had  learned  the  names  of  sundry  famous 
law  Doctors  from  his  frequent  discussions  v  ith  Master 
Pothier. 

"  My  authorities  ?  Listen,  Jean  La  Marche  I  "  And 
Master  Pothier  launched  into  a  musical  descant  of  great 
authorities  on  the  subject : 


" '  Si  vous  conseilley  nos  Auteurs, 
Legislateurs  et  glossateurs ; 

Jason,  Aliciat,  Cujas, 

Ce  grand  homme  si  capable  ! 

La  polygamic  est  un  cas, 
Est  un  cas  pendable ! ' 


-  •  i  >  - 


"  If  that  will  not  hang  you,  Jean  La  Marche,  you  are  not 
worth  hanging,  and  that  is  my  opinion  as  v/ell  as  Molifere's, 
for  which  I  charge  you  a  round  of  Norman  cider  for  this 
fair  company!" 

The  opinion  of  Master  Pothier  was  received  with  tumul- 
tuous applause.  Jean  was  overwhelmed,  but  in  revenge 
swore  he  would  sing  his  best  song,  the  famous  old  Apologie 
du  Cidre,  a  Norman  ditty  of  the  fourteenth  century,  which 
had  been  brought  to  the  colony  in  the  ships  of  Jacqnes  ^ 
Cartier. 

"  Now  fill  all  your  mugs,"  cried  he,  "  and  be  in  time 
with  the  chorus.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  cidei  is  better 
than  law  any  day."  -  ni 

Jean  twanged  his  fiddle,  and  handling  his  bow  like  • 
genuine  virtuoso,  began  the  jolly  old  ballad: 


■(.-] 


De  nous  se  rit  le  Francois, 

Mais  quoi  qu'il  en  die, 
Le  cidre  do  Normandie, 

Vaut  bien  son  vin  quelquefoia  ! 
Coule  k  val !  et  loge,  loge  ! 

II  fait  grand  bien  k  la  gorge  1 

Ta  bontd,  O  cidre  bea  u  ! 
De  te  boire  me  convie, 
Mais  pour  le  moins  je  te  pric 


'  f':1 


f-' 


/^ 


44s 


;.,/' 


;^.ij  <- 


-J  ;  v|  -ii  * 


r^i?  CHIEN  D'OR. 

Ne  me  trouble  le  cerveaut 
Coule  4  val  1  et  loge,  loge  I 
II  fait  grand  bien  4  la  gorge  I 

Voisin  ne  songe  en  proces  I      "^ 
Prends  le  bien  qui  se  presente  I 

Mais,  que  I'homme  se  contentej, 
II  en  a  toujours  a.S3ez  ! 

Coule  &  val  et  log";,  5ogc  ] 
II  fait  grand  bier  b. la  r-irge  I 


*  ■ »-  i... 


^^ 


X  ^^*^ht  Apaiogie  tiu  Cii/rewis  siui;:;  in  Jean's  besi  timbre, 
and  chorused  con  amore  by  the  company  with  a  rattling 
accompaniment  ol  pewter  mugs  and  hard  knuckles  rapping 
on  the  oak  table. 

Master  Pothier  threw  up  his  hands  in  ecstasy,  icpeated 
the  chorus,  and  proposed  a  double  round  in  honor  of  the 
Lady  (\q  Tilly  and  the  fair  young  chatelaia:,  Mademoiselle 
Amdlie.     It  was  drank  with  enthusiaisra. 

'  I  want  now,"  continued  Master  Pothier,  "  to  drink 
the  health  and  happiness  of  the  young  Seigneur  de  Repen- 
ttgry,  and  a  long  law  suit  and  a  short  purse  to  the  censi- 
taire  who  will  not  join  in  it." 

"  Hush,  Master  Pothier !  Don't  name  the  young 
Seigneur,  "  interjected  Jean  La  Marche,  "  he  is  in  the 
parlor  yonder  playing  dice  and  drinking  hot  wine,  with  the 
Chevalier  De  Pean  and  two  other  big  dogs  of  the  Fri- 
ponne." 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Pean  !  The  secretary  of  the  Inten- 
dant  !  is  he  here  ? "  asked  Master  Pothier,  discreetly  lower- 
ing his  voice,  "  what  brings  him  to  Tilly  ?  " 

"  Some  devil's  business  of  the  Friponne  I  warrant !  " 
whispered  Jean.  "  I  kept  aloof  for  a  week  fearing  he  was 
making  inquiries  about  the  riot,  but  finding  all  right  and 
being  very  thirsty,  I  could  not  stay  away  from  the  Tilly 
Arms  any  longer.  Do  you  know  the  Chev  lier  de  Pean, 
Mastei  Pothier?" 

"  Know  him  !  I  know  every  dog  of  high  and  low  de 
gree  in  the  Capital." 

"  He  is  a  gay,  lively  fellow  !  but  he  has  an  eye  to  cheat 
man  and  woman  or  I  am  no  jndge  !  What  do  you  think 
Master  Pothier  ?  "  asked  Jean. 

*'  What  do  I  think  ?"  rep2P'?c'  Master  Pothier,  taking  a 
serio  !s  pull  at  the  tankard  and  slowly  shaking  his  head  as 
he  echoed  the  question.     "  I  think  he  is  worthy  to  be  sec- 


A    WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT. 


413 


retary  to  Caius  Verres  himself."  Master  Pothier  had  not 
quite  lost  the  tincture  of  his  humanities  learned  at  the  old 
school  of  Aries. 

"  Who  is  that,  Master  Pothier  ? "  Jean  had  a  prodigious 
respect  for  learning,  and  the  more  in  proportion  to  the  les9 
he  knew  of  it. 

"  Caius  Verres ! "  replied  Master  Pothier,  as  cau- 
tious as  a  fox.  "  lie  was  a  Roman  and  should  be  spoken 
of  in  the  Roman  tongue  ;  he  was  Intendant  of  Sicily /t?/- 
ulatcR  vexatce  funditus  evarsaque  Provincice  /like  this  poor 
New-France  of  ours,  and  that  is  my  opinion  ! " 

Honest  Jean  was  perfectly  content  with  Master  Pothier's 
explanation.  It  was  Latin  like  what  he  heard  at  mass,  and 
therefore  to  be  taken  on  trust  with  implicit  confidence. 
The  rest  of  the  company  were  of  the  same  mind,  for  not 
one  of  them  thought  it  necessary  to  ask  Master  Pothier 
for  an  interpretation  of  his  learned  opinion  of  the  Intend- 
ant 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


A  WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT. 


Master  Pothier  leaned  back  his  head  and  twirled  his 
thumbs  for  a  few  minutes  without  speaking  or  listening  to 
the  babhb  around  him,  which  had  now  turned  upon  the 
war  and  the  latest  sweep  of  the  royal  commissa-ries  for 
corn  and  ^/tle.  "  Did  you  say,  Jean  La  Marche,"  said  he, 
"that  Lc'  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  playing  dice  and 
drinking  hot  wine  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  and  two  big 
dogs  of  the  Friponne  t  " 

"  I  did.  "  Jean  spoke  with  a  choking  sensation.  "  Our 
young  Seigneur  has  broken  out  again  wilder  than  ever  and 
IS  neither  to  hold  nor  bind  any  longer  1  " 

"  Aye  1 "  replied  Master  Pothier  reflectively,  "  the  best 
bond  I  could  vlraw  would  not  bind  him  more  than  a  spider's 
thread  I  They  are  stiff  necked  as  bulls,  these  De  Repen- 
tignys,  and  will  bear  no  yoke  but  what  they  put  on  of 
themselves  1  Poor  lad  !  Do  they  know  at  the  Manor 
House  he  is  here  drinking  and  dicing  with  the  Chevalier  dQ 
Pean  ?" 


m 


*  ■?-■ 


THE  CI//EU  jyOR.  .    V. 

"  No  !  Else  all  the  rain  in  heaven  would  not  have  pre 
vented  his  being  looked  after  by  Mademoiselle  Amdlie 
and  My  Lady,"  answered  Jean.  "  His  friend  Pierre  Phili- 
bert  who  is  now  a  great  oflficer  of  the  King,  went  last 
night  to  Batiscan  on  some  matter  of  the  army,  as  his 
groom  told  me.  Had  he  been  here,  Le  Gardeur  would  not 
have  spent  the  day  at  the  Tilly  Arms  as  we  poor  habitam 
do  when  it  is  washing  day  at  home.'' 

"  Pierre  Philibert  1  "  Master  Pothier  rubbed  his  hands 
at  this  reminder,  '*  1  remember  him  Je;iii  !     A  hero  like  St 
Denis!     It  was  he  who  walked  into  the  chttteau  of  the 
Intendant  and  brought  off  yoUng  De  Repentigny  as  a  cat 
does  her  kitten."  ' 

"  What,  in  his  mouth.  Master  Pothier  ? " 

"  None  of  your  quips,  Jean,  keep  cool !  "  Master  Pothier's 
own  face  grew  red.  "  Never  ring  the  coin  that  is  a  gift,  and 
do  not  stretch  my  compar  Isons  like  your  own  wit,  to  a  bare 
thread.  If  I  had  said  in  his  mouth,  what  then  1  It  was  by 
word  of  mouth  I  warrant  you  that  he  carried  him  away 
from  Beaumanoir.  Pit}',  he  is  not  here  to  take  him  away 
from  the  Tilly  Arms  !  " 

Master  Pothier  rose  and  looked  through  the  window 
against  which  the  rain  was  beating  furiously.  The  gloom 
of  approaching  night  began  to  mingle  distant  objects 
together.  But  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  cutting  the  grey  sky, 
the  tall  pines  stood  out  distinctly,  and  bowed  their  tops  in 
the  wind,  which  was  scattering  the  mist  before  sunset,  with 
promise,  perhaps,  of  a  fair  day  for  to-morrow.  But  as  yet 
there  was  no  lull  in  the  driving  rain  The  eye  of  Master 
Pothier  traced  with  a  dubious  glance  the  steep  road  lead- 
ing up  the  hill.  It  was  lost  in  darkness  before  it  reached 
the  summit.    :.•  ^  \  ■■.•:;       .  •  ^■■"-■--  '■'^'^  ■'■i^:-  ^''i  ;jc;:^u^ 

Master  Pothier  reflected  on  the  long  league  to  the 
Manor  House  behind  the  hill.  Then  upon  the  rain  and 
the  coming  darkness,  and  turning  to  the  glowing  fire,  the 
dry  chimney  corner,  the  good  liquor  and  the  good  companyj 
he  resumed  his  seat  stolidly,  refilled  his  pipe  and  began 
doggedly  to  smoke  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  stir  out  of  his 
warm  corner  any  more  that  night.  -•      t 

But  it  was  no  use.  Master  Pothier  was  very  fidgety. 
The  sound  of  voices,  the  rattle  and  clash  of  the  dice  box 
in  the  distant  parlor  reached  his  ea.  ap^idst  th»  ^  ^  Jghter 
and  gabble  of  the  common  room.     He  tried  the  tankard 


A    WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT, 


44$ 


re  pre 

Phili- 
nt  last 
as  his 
lid  not 
ibitani 

hands 
like  St, 

of  the 
.s  a  cat 


'othier's 
^ift,  and 

0  a  bare 
t  was  by 
m  away 
im  away 

1  window 
gloom 

objects 
ey  sky, 
tops  in 
set,  with 
ut  as  yet 
Master 
ad  lead- 
reached 

;  to  the 
rain  and 
fire,  the 
Dompany^ 
id  began 
ut  of  his 

fidgety. 

dice  box 

>  ighter 

tankard 


and  drank  deep  draughts  to  compose  his  mind,  and  fancy^ 
ing  he  was  drowsy,  drank  again  to  rouse  himself  up  and 
keep  awake. 

"  A  man  may  as  well  walk  on  it  as  sit  on  it !  "  said  he. 
"  The  cause  is  decided  against  me.  and  I  must  pay  the  costs  \ 
Jean  La  Marche,  will  you  go  with  me  to  the  Manor  House 
to  night  ? " 

"  To  the  Manor  House  ?  "  replied  Jean  very  thickly,  for 
he,  too,  had  been  trying  to  float  his  though's  by  giving  them 
plenty  of  liquor  to  swim  in.  "  The  way  is  as  long  as  a 
Christmas  Carol,  and  the  rain  will  spoil  my  fiddle  strings  j 
but  I  will  not  refuse  you.  Master  Pothier  I  these  dogs  of 
the  Friponne  are  barking  louder  and  louder.  They  will 
devour  Le  Gardeur  before  morning  !  I  will  go  with  you,  give 
me  your  hand,  old  Robin  !  But  1  find  it  hard  to  rise  with  a 
heavy  seat  like  this  under  me. 

With  a  mutual  pull,  Master  Pothie;  and  Jean  taking 
hold  of  hands  managed  to  get  upon  their  legs,  and  with 
some  lurching  and  unsteady  squaring,  the^'  stretched  them- 
selves into  their  great  coats.  With  a  jug  of  Santa  Cruz  rum 
as  sea  stores,  the  two  good-natured  fellows  more  willing 
than  capable,  set  out  arm  in  arm  on  a  tramp  through  the 
rain  and  darkness  to  the  Manor  House. 

Sooth  to  say  they  never  reached  it !  for  stopping  to  re- 
fresh themselves  by  the  wayside  in  a  hut  Leuanted  by  an  old 
boon  companion,  they  were  welcomed  with  such  empresse- 
ment  and  hospital^  Ly  that  once  seated  by  his  fire  Master 
Pothier  took  out:  his  jug,  and  Jean  La  Marche  his  violin 
for  a  tune  to  cheer  thein  on  their  tramp. 

Minutes  ran  on  to  bjurs,  hours  stretched  to  the  third 
watch.  The  jug  was  exhausted,  Jean's  elbows  flagged. 
The  long  ballad  of  the  King's  son,  with  original  variations, 
was  never  finished.  They  forgot  their  mission  and  drop- 
ped down  one  by  one  upon  the  hearth.  The  host  and  his 
guests  all  slept  till  day. 

When  they  woke  up,  the  bright  sun  was  shining,  the 
storm  was  all  gone.  Master  Pothier  and  Jean  with  some 
effort  recollected  how,  why  and  when  they  had  got  to  the 
hut  of  Roger  Bontemps.  A  sense  of  honest  shame  crept 
over  them.  They  were  debating  whether  to  go  on  to  the 
Manor  House,  or  to  sneak  back  to  the  village,  when  a 
groom  rode  up  who  had  been  sent  at  dawn  of  day  to  the 
Tilly  Arms,  and  was  returning  with  the  intelligence  that 


\  -^k. 


Hi 


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,   }  ft 


i 


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¥  -     f  !■' 


i46 


r//£  CHIEN  D'OR. 


Le  Gardeur  had  embarked  that  morning  in  a  ctnoe  with 
the  Chevalier  de  Pean  and  his  companions,  and  gone  to 
the  city. 

The  night  h.idbeen  a  hard  one  in  the  little  inn.  The 
habitans  and  fishermen  reduced  to  comparative  quiet 
by  the  departure  of  Master  Pothier  and  Jean  La  Marche, 
with  tbeii  monoy  spent  and  credit  difficult,  left  by  ones 
and  two's  to  trudge  or  reel  home  as  best  they  could. 
Some  of  them  were  suddenly  sobered  by  the  prospect  o* 
the  lecture  that  they  knew  was  simmering  for  them  in  the 
n-Ind  of  the  good  wife,  v^ho  with  gathered  brows  was  rock- 
'ng  herself  on  her  stool  b'^fore  the  dying  fire  nursing  her 
wrath  like  a  cross  baby  m  her  bosom,  ready  to  throw  it  at 
the  head  of  the  good  man  as  he  came  reeling  into  his  cot- 
tage.   •■:•■•'■  ■  I  ■■         •  '  '      '       '.     ■ 

In  proportion  as  the  common  room  of  the  inn  grew 
quiet  by  the  departure  of  its  guests,  the  parlor  occupied  by 
the  gentlemen  became  more  noisy  and  distinct  in  its 
confusion.  The  song,  the  laugh,  the  jest,  and  jingle  of 
glasses  mingled  with  the  perpetual  rattle  of  dice  or  the 
thumps  which  accompanied  the  play  of  successful  cards. 

Paul  Gaillard,  the  host,  a  timid  little  fellow  not  used  to 
such  high  imperious  guests  only  venturCw'  to  look  into  the 
parlor  when  summoned  for  more  wine.  He  was  a  born 
censitaire  of  the  house  of  Tilly  and  felt  shame  and  pity  at  he 
beheld  the  dishevelled  figure  of  his  young  Seigneur  shaking 
the  dice  box,  and  defying  one  and  all  to  another  cast,  for 
love,  liquor  or  whole  handfuls  of  uncounted  coin. 

Paul  Gaillard  had  ventured  once  to  whisper  something 
to  Le  Gardeur  about  sending  his  Cal§che  to  the  Manor 
house,  hoping  that  his  youthful  master  would  consent  to  be 
driven  home.  But  his  proposal  was  met  by  a  wild  laugh 
from  La  Gardeur  and  a  good  humored  expulsion  from  the 
room. 

He  dared  not  again  interfere,  but  contented  himself 
with  waiting  until  break  of  day  to  send  a  message  to  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  informing  her  of  the  sad  plight  of  his  young 
Master. 

De  Pean  with  a  great  object  in  view  had  summoned  Le 
Mercier  and  Emeric  de  Lantagnac  from  the  city  \  potent 
topers  and  hard  players,  to  assist  him  in  his  desperate 
game  Toi  the  soul,  body  and  fortune  of  Le  Gardeur  de 
Repentigny. 


A  WILD  XIGHT  WDOOHH  AND  OUT. 


447 


with 

leto 

The 
:iuiel 
rche, 
ones 
ouUl.  ; 
ect  o* 
n  the 
rock- 
ig  her 
n  it  at 
is  cot- 

1  grew 
)ied  by 
in   its 
[igle  of 
or  the 
ards. 
lused  to 
nto  the 
a  born 
;y  at  he 
shaking 
:ast,  for 

nethmg 
:  Manor 
nt  to  be 
d  laugh 
rom  the 

himself 
le  to  the 
lis  young 

loned  Le 

;  potent 

[esperate 

[deur  de 


They  came  willingly.  The  Intendant  had  laughingly 
wished  th<  i  bon  voyage!  and  a  speedy  return  with  hit 
friend  Le  eiardeur,  giving  thcni  no  other  intimation  of 
his  wishes,  nor  could  they  surmise  that  he  had  any  other 
object  in  view  than  the  pleasure  of  again  meeting  a  pleasant 
companion  of  his  table  and  a  sharer  of  their  pleasures. 

De  Pean  had  no  difficulty  in  enticing  Le  Gardeur  down 
to  the  village  inn  where  he  had  arranged  that  he  should 
meet  by  mere  accident  as  it  were,  his  old  city  friends. 

The  bold  generous  nature  of  Le  Gardeur  who  neither 
suspected  nor  feared  any  evil,  greeted  them  with  warmth. 
They  were  jovial  fellows  he  knew,  who  would  be  affronted 
if  he  refused  to  drink  a  cup  of  wine  with  them.  They 
talked  of  the  gossip  of  the  city,  its  coteries  and  pleasant 
scandals,  and  of  the  beauty  and  splendor  of  the  Queen  of 
society — Angelique  des  Meloises. 

Le  Gardeur  with  a  painful  sense  of  his  last  interview 
with  Angelique  and  never  tor  a  moment  forgetting  her  reit- 
erated words  :  "  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not 
marr}'  you,"  kept  silent  whenever  she  was  named,  but 
talked  with  an  air  of  cheerfulness  on  every  other   topic. 

His  one  glass  of  wine  was  soon  followed  by  another. 
He  was  pressed  with  such  cordiality  that  he  could  not 
refuse.  The  fire  was  rekindled,  at  first  with  a  faint  glow 
upon  his  cheek,  and  a  sparkle  in  his  eye  ;  but  the  table 
soon  overflowed  with  wine,  mirth  and  laughter.  He  drank 
without  reflection  and  soon  spoke  with  warmth  and  loose- 
ness from  all  restraint.  ......v.1- 

De  Pean,  resolved  to  excite  Le  Gardeur  to  the  utmost, 
would  not  cease  alluding  to  Angdlique.  He  recurred 
again  and  again  to  the  splendor  of  her  charms  and  the  fascin- 
ation of  her  ways.  He  watched  the  effect  of  his  speech 
upon  the  countenance  of  Le  Gardeur,  keenly  observant  of 
every  expression  of  interest  excited  by  the  mention  of  her. 

"  We  will  drink  to  her  bright  eyes,"  exclaimed  De  Pean, 
fihing  his  glass  until  it  ran  over,  "  first  in  beauty  and  worthy 
to  be  first  in  place  in  New-France.  Yea  or  Old  France 
either  !  and  he  is  a  heathen  who  will  not  drink  this  toast  I  " 

"  Le  Gardeur  will  not  drink  it  I  Neither  would  I  in  his 
place,"  replied  Emeric  de  Lantagnac,  too  drunk  now  to 
mind  what  he  said.  "  I  would  drink  to  the  bright  eyes  of 
no  woman  who  had  played  me  the  trick  Angelique  has 
played  upon  Le  Gardeur  I " 


^■»' 


448 


THE  cm  EX  DOR. 


#    '■;  it\- 


"  What  trick  has  she  played  upon  nc  ?  '  repeated  Le 
Gardeur  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"  Why,  she  has  jilted  you,  and  nov/  'A-.t^^,  at  higher  game, 
and  nothing  but  a  prince  of  the  blood  will  satisfy  her  1" 

"Does  she  say  that  ?  or  do  you  invent  it  ?"  Le  Gar- 
deur was  almost  choking  with  angry  feelings.  Kmeric 
cared  little  what  he  said  drunk  or  sober.  He  replied 
gravely : — 

"  Oh,  all  the  women  in  the  city  say  she  said  it !  But 
you  know,  Le  Gardeur,  women  will  lie  of  one  another  faster 
than  a  man  can  count  a  hundred  by  tens." 
♦  De  Pean  while  enjoying  the  vexation  of  Le  Gardeur, 
feared  that  the  bantc'-  of  Emeric  might  have  an  ill  effect 
on  his  scheme.  *•  I  do  not  believe  it,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  he, 
"  Ang^lique  is  too  true  a  woman  to  say  what  she  means,  to 
every  jealous  rival.  The  women  hope  she  has  jilted  you. 
That  counts  one  more  chance  for  them,  you  know  !  Is 
not  that  feminine  arithmetic,  Le  Mercier  ? "  asked  he. 

"  It  is  at  the  Friponne,"  replied  Le  Mercier,  laughing. 
"  But  the  man  who  becomes  debtor  to  Angc^lique  des  Me- 
loises  will  never,  if  I  know  her,  be  discharged  out  of  her 
books  even  if  he  pay  his  debt." 

"  Aye,  they  say  she  never  lets  a  lover  go,  or  a  friend 
either,"  replied  De  Pean.  "  I  have  proof  to  convince  Le 
Gardeur  that  Angt^lique  has  not  jilted  him.  Emeric  re- 
ports women's  tattle,  nothing  more."  .      '  ' 

Le  Gardeur  was  thoroughly  roused.  "  Par  Dieu  I "  ex- 
claimed he,  "  my  affairs  are  well  talked  over  in  the  city  I 
think  I  Who  gave  man  or  woman  the  right  to  talk  of  me 
thus  ? " 

"  No  one  gave  ^hem  the  right.  But  the  women  claim 
it  indefeasibly  from  Eve,  who  commenced  talking  of 
Adam's  affairs  with  Satan  the  first  time  her  mai/s  back 
was  turned." 

"  Pshaw  1  Angdlique  des  Meloises  is  as  sensible  as  she 
is  beautiful !  she  never  said  that !  No,  Par  Dieu !  she 
never  said  to  man  or  woman  that  she  had  jilted  me,  or 
gave  reason  for  others  to  say  so  !  " 

Le  Gardeur  in  his  vexation  poured  out  with  nervous 
hand  a  large  glass  of  pure  brandy  and  drank  it  down.  It 
had  an  instant  effect.  His  forehead  flushed  and  his  eyes 
dilated  with  fresh  fire,  "  She  never  said  that !  "  repeated 
he  fiercely.  "  I  would  swear  it  on  my  mother's  head  she 


A  WILD  NKiHT  Jfi  OOO/CS  AND  Ol/T. 


id  Li 

;ame, 
•I" 
Gar- 

meric 
;pUed 

But 

faster 

irdeur, 
effect 
aid  he, 
ans,  to 
d  you. 
vl  Is 
he. 

ughing. 
des  Me- 
t  of  her 

friend 
lince  Le 
eric  re- 

/  "  ex- 
city  I 
of  me 

11  claim 

|:ing    of 

s  back 

as  she 

m!  she 

me,  or 

Inervous 
Iwn.  It 
lis  eyes 
lepeated 
lead  she 


never  did !  and  would  kill  any  man  who  would  dare  AA^.rm 
it  of  her!"  ,         f       '  ' 

"  Right  I  the  way  to  win  a  woman  is  never  to  gi'  '  he/ 
up,"  answered  De  Pean.  "  Hark  you,  Le  Oardcur,  ali  the 
cily  knows  that  she  favored  you  more  than  any  of  the  rest 
of  her  legion  of  admirers.  Why  arc  you  moping  away 
your  time  here  at  Tilly  when  you  ought  to  be  running  doA^n 
your  game  in  the  city  1 " 

"  My  Atalanta  is  too  fleet  of  foot  for  me,  De  Pean," 
replied  Le  Gardeur.  "  I  have  given  up  the  chase.  I  have 
not  the  luck  of  Hippomanes." 

"That  is,  she  is  too  fast  !  "  said  De  Pean  mockingly. 
"  But  have  you  thrown  a  golden  apple  at  her  feet  to  stop 
your  runaway  nymph  ?  " 

"  I  have  thrown  myself  at  her  feet,  De  Pean  !  And  in 
vain,"  said  Le  Gardeur,  gulping  down  another  cup  of  brandy. 

De  Pean  watched  the  effect  of  the  deep  potations  which 
Le  Gardeur  now  poured  down  to  quench  the  rising  fires 
kindled  in  his  breast.  "  Come  here,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  a  message  for  you  which  I  would  not  deliver  be- 
fore, leFt  you  might  be  angry."  ;';•'!    ;'i. 

De  Pean  led  him  into  a  recess  of  the  room.  "  You  are 
wanted  in  the  city,"  whispered  he  ;  "  Ang^lique  sent  this 
iittle  note  by  me.  She  put  it  in  my  hand  as  I  was  embark- 
ing for  Tilly,  and  blushed  redder  than  a  rose  as  she  did  so. 
I  promised  to  deliver  it  safely  to  you." 

It  was  a  note  quaintly  folded  in  a  style  Le  Gardeur  re- 
cognized well,  inviting  him  to  return  to  the  city.  Its  lan- 
guage was  a  mixture  of  light  persiflage  and  tantalizing 
coquetry.  "  She  was  dying  of  thedulness  of  the  city.  The 
late  ball  at  the  palace  had  been  a  failure  lacking  the  pres 
ence  of  Le  Gardeur.  Her  house  was  forlorn  without  the 
visits  of  her  dear  friend,  and  she  wanted  his  trusty  coun- 
sel in  an  affair  of  the  last  importance  to  her  welfare  and 
happiness." 

"That  girl  loves  you  and  you  may  have  her  for  the' 
asking !"  continued  De  Pean,  as  Le  Gardeur  sat  crump- 
ling the  letter  up  in  his  hard.  De  Pean  watched  his  coun- 
tenance with  the  eye  of  a  b  asilisk. 

"  Do  you  think  so  "i "  asked  Le  Gardeur,  eagerly,  "  but 
no,  I  have  no  more  faith  in  woman  ;  she  does  not  mean  it !  ** 

"  But  if  she  does  mean  it !  would  you  go,  Le  Gardeur  ? " 
"  Would  I  go  ? "  replied  he  up  excitedly  ;  "  yes,  I  would 

29 


1  - .;, 


*     :" 


4SO 


THE  CHIEN  DOR. 


)     I 


S:V' 


go  to  the  lowest  pit  in  hel'  for  her !  but  why  are  you  taunt 
mg  me,  De  Pean?" 

"  I  taunt  you  !  Read  her  note  again  !  She  wants  your 
trusty  counsel  in  an  affair  of  the  last  importance  to  her 
welfare  and  happiness.  You  know  what  is  the  affair  of 
last  importance  to  a  woman  !  will  you  refuse  her  now,  Le 
Gardeur?" 

"No,  Par  Dieu  /  I  can  refuse  her  nothing  ;  no,  not  if 
she  asked  me  for  my  head,  although  I  know  it  is  but 
mockery." 

"  Never  mind  !  Then  you  will  return  with  us  to  the 
city  ?   We  start  at  daybreak." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  with  you  De  Pean  ;  you  have  made  me 
drunk,  and  I  am  willing  to  stay  drunk  till  I  leave  Amdlie 
and  my  Aunt  and  Helo'se,  up  at  the  Manor  House.  Pierre 
Philibert,  he  will  be  angry  that  I  leave  him,  but  he  can  fol- 
low, and  they  can  all  follow  1  I  hate  myself  for  it,  De 
Pean!  But  Angdlique  des  Meloises  is  to  me  more  than 
creature  or  creator.  It  is  a  sin  to  love  a  woman  as  I  love 
her,  De  Pean !  " 

De  Pean  fairly  writhed  before  the  spirit  he  evoked. 
He  was  not  so  sure  of  his  game  but  that  it  might  yet  be 
lost.  He  knew  Angdlique's  passionate  impulses,  and  he 
thought  that  no  woman  could  resist  such  devotion  as  that 
of  Le  Gardeur. 

He  kept  down  his  feelings  however.  He  saw  that  Le 
Gardeur  was  ripe  for  ruin.  They  returned  tO  the  table  and 
drank  still  more  freely.  Dice  and  cards  were  resumed,  fresh 
challenges  were  thrown  out  •  Emeric  and  Le  Mercier  were 
already  deep  in  a  game  ;  money  was  pushed  to  and  fro.  The 
contagion  fastened  like  a  plague  upon  Le  Gardeur,  who 
sat  down  at  the  table,  drew  forth  a  full  purse,  and  pulling 
up  every  anchor  of  restraint  set  sail  on  the  floodtide  of 
drinking  and  gaming  which  lasted  without  ceasing  until 
break  of  day. 

De  Pean  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  his  scheme 
for  the  abduction  of  Le  Gardeur.  He  got  ready  for  de- 
parture, and  with  a  drunken  rush  and  a  broken  song  the 
four  gallants  with  unwashed  faces  and  disordered  clothes 
staggered  into  their  canoe  and  with  a  shout  bade  the  boat 
men  start. 

The  hardy  canotiers  were  ready  for  departure.  They 
headed  their  long  canoes  down  the  flowing  river,  dashed 


A  WILD  NIGHT  INDOOHS  AND  OUT, 


4&> 


their  paddles  into  the  water,  just  silvered  with  the  rays  ot 
the  rising  sun  and  shot  down  stream  towards  the  city  of 
Quebec. 

De  Pean,  elate  with  his  success,  did  not  let  the  gaiety 
of  the  party  flag  for  a  moment  during  their  return.  They 
drank,  sang  and  talked  balderdash  and  indecencies  in  a 
way  to  bring  a  look  of  disgust  upon  the  cheeks  of  the 
rough  boatmen. 

Le  Gardeur,  from  an  innate  cleanness  of  soul  and 
imagination,  intoxicated  as  he  might  be,  never  defiled  his 
lips  with  impurities,  although  he  drank  and  rioted  to  match 
the  wildest  of  his  companions.  Emeric  de  Lantagnac 
and  he  sat  supporting  one  another,  drinking  unmeaning 
healths  to  all  the  bright  eyes  ni  the  city,  which  they  were 
going  to  see,  and  joining  in  the  wild  chorus  of  the  boat- 
men, who  strove  vainly  to  drown  the  noise  of  their  drunken 
passengers. 

Much  less  sober  than  when  they  left  Tilly,  the  riotcus 
party  reached  the  capital.  The  canotiers  with  rapid 
strokes  of  the  paddle  passed  the  high  cliffs  and  guarded 
walls,  and  made  for  the  quay  of  the  Friponne,  De  Pean, 
forcing  silence  upon  his  companions  as  they  passed  the 
Sault  au  Matelot,  where  a  crowd  of  idle  boatmen  hailed 
them  with  volleys  of  raillery,  which  only  ceased  when  the 
canoe  was  near  enough  for  them  to  see  whom  it  contained. 
They  were  instantly  silent.  The  rigorous  search  made  by 
order  of  the  Intendant  after  the  late  rioters,  and  the  sum- 
mary punishment  inflicted  upon  all  who  had  been  convicted, 
had  inspired  a  careful  avoidance  of  offence  towards  Bigot 
and  the  hig!i  officers  of  his  staff. 

De  Pean  landed  quietly,  few  caring  to  turn  their  heads 
too  often  towards  him.  Le  Gardeur,  wholly  under  his 
control,  staggered  out  of  the  canoe,  and  taking  his  arm, 
was  dragged,  rather  than  led  up  to  the  palace,  where  Bigot 
greeted  the  party  with  loud  welcome.  Apartments  were 
assigned  to  Le  Gardeur,  as  to  a  most  honored  guest  in  the 
palace.  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  finally  and 
wholly  in  the  power  of  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  looked  triumphant,  and  congratulated  De  Pean 
on  the  success  of  his  mission.  "We  will  keep  him  now  !  " 
said  he,  "  Le  Gardeur  must  never  draw  a  sober  breath 
again  until  we  have  done  with  him  !  '* 

De  Pean  looked  knowingly  at  Bigot  j   "  I  understand, 


4S« 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


\im 


said  he,  "  Emeric  and  Le  Meicier  will  drink  him  blind,  and 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  rattle  the  dice  like 
hail.  We  must  pluck  the  pigeon  to  his  last  feather  before 
he  will  feel  desperate  enough  to  play  your  game.  Cheva- 
lier." 

"  As  you  like,  De  Pean  about  that,"  replied  Bigot, 
"  only  mind  that  he  does  not  leave  the  palace.  His  friends 
will  run  after  him.  That  accursed  Philibert  will  be  here ;  on 
your  life  do  not  let  him  see  him  !  Hark  you !  when  he 
comes,  make  Le  Gardeur  affront  him  by  some  offensive 
reply  to  his  inquiry.     You  can  do  it." 

De  Pean  took  the  hint,  and  acted  upon  it  by  forging 
that  infamous  card  in  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur,  and  send- 
ing it  as  his  reply  to  Pierre  Philibert. 


m 


■'.,'  \ 

CHAPTER  XLIL 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


La  CoRRivEAiT,  eager  to  commence  her  work  of  wicked- 
ness, took  up  her  abode  at  the  house  of  her  ancient  friend, 
Mfere  Malheur,  whither  she  went  on  the  night  of  her  first 
interview  with  Ange'lique. 

It  was  a  small  house,  built  of  uncut  stones,  with  rough 
stone  steps  and  lintels,  a  peaked  roof,  and  low  overhang- 
ing eaves,  hiding  itself  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliff,  so 
closely,  that  it  seemed  to  form  a  part  of  the  rock  itself. 

Its  sole  inmate,  an  old  crone  who  had  reached  the  last 
degree  of  woman's  ugliness  and  woman's  heartlessness : 
Mere  Malheur,  sold  fair  winds  to  superstitious  sailors,  and 
good  luck  to  hunters  and  voyageurs.  She  was  not  a  little 
suspected  of  dabbling  in  other  forbidden  things.  Half 
believing  in  her  own  impostures,  she  regarded  La  Corriveau 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  worship,  who  in  return  for  this 
devotion,  imparted  to  her  a  few  secrets  of  minor  impor- 
tance in  her  diabolic  arts. 

La  Corriveau  was  ever  a  welcome  guest  at  the  house 
of  Mere  Malheur,  who  feasted  her  lavishly,  ind  served  her 
obsequiously,  but  d  d  not  press  with  undue  curiosity  to 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


453 


iearn  her  business  in  the  city.  The  two  women  under- 
stood one  another  well  enough,  not  to  pry  too  closely  into 
each  other's  secrets. 

On  this  occasion  La  Corriveau  was  more  than  usually 
reserved,  and  while  Mfere  Malheur  eagerly  detailed  to  her 
all  the  doings  and  undoings  that  had  happened  in  her 
circle  of  acquaintance,  she  got  little  information  in  return. 
She  shrewdly  concluded  that  La  Corriveau  had  business 
on  hand  which  would  not  bear  to  be  spoken  of. 

"  When  you  need  my  help  ask  for  it  without  scruple, 
Dame  Dodier,"  said  the  old  crone.  "  I  see  von  have  some- 
thing  on  hand  that  may  noed  my  aid.  I  would  go  into  the 
fire  to  serve  you,  although  I  would  not  burn  my  finger  for 
any  other  woman  in  the  world,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  Mere  Malheur,"  La  Corriveau  spoke 
with  an  air  of  superiority,  *'  and  you  say  rightly,  I  have 
something  on  hand  which  I  cannot  accomplish  alone,  and 
I  need  your  help,  although  I  cannot  tell  you  yet,  how  or 
against  whom." 

"  Is  it  a  woman  or  a  man  ?  I  will  only  ask  that 
question.  Dame  Dodier,"  said  the  crone,  turning  upon  her 
a  pair  of  green  inquisitive  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  woman,  and  so  of  course  you  will  help  me. 
Our  sex  for  the  bottom  of  all  mischief,  Mere  Malheur ! 
I  do  not  know  what  women  arc  made  for  except  to  plague 
one  another  for  the  sake  of  worthless  men  !  " 

The  old  crone  laughed  a  hideous  laugh,  and  playfully 
pushed  her  long  fingers  ito  the  ribs  of  La  Corriveau. 
"Made  for  1  quotha  1  mei.'s  temptation  to  be  sure, and  the 
beginning  of  all  mischief  I  " 

"  Pretty  temptations,  you  and  I  are,  Mere  Malheur  [  *' 
replied  La  Corriveau  with  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  Well,  we  were  pretty  temptations  once !  I  will  never' 
give  up  that  I  you  must  own  Dame  Dodier,  we  were  both 
pretty  temptations  once  !  " 

"  Pshaw  1  I  wish  I  had  been  a  man  for  my.  part," 
replied  La  Corriveau.  impetuously.  "It  was  a  spiteful  cross 
of  fate  to  make  me  a  w<  man  I " 

"But,  Dame  Dodici,  I  like  to  be  a  woman,  I  do  A 
man  cannot  be  half  as  wicked  as  a  woman,  especially  if 
she  be  young  and  pretty,"  said  the  old  woman,  laughing 
till  the  tears  ran  out  of  her  bleared  eyes. 

"  Nay,  that  is  true,  Mere  Malheur,  the  fairest  women  in 


♦54 


THE  crilEN  D'OR, 


■fli 


the  world  are  ever  the  worst !  fair  and  false  !  fail  and  false  I 
they  are  always  so.  Not  one  better  than  another.  Satan's 
mark  is  upon  all  of  us  !  "  La  Corriveau  looked  an  incar 
nation  of  Hecate  as  she  uttered  this  calunony  uponhet 
lex.  '         ^ 

"  Aye,  I  have  his  mark  on  my  knee,  Dame  Dodier,** 
replied  the  crone.  "  See  here !  It  was  pricked  once  in  the 
high  court  of  Arras,  but  the  fool  judge  decided  that  it  was 
a  mole,  and  not  a  witch  mark !  I  escaped  a  red  gown  that 
time,  however.  [  laughed  at  his  stupidity,  and  bewitched 
him  for  it  hi  earnest.  I  was  young  and  pretty  then  !  He 
died  in  a  year,  and  Satan  sat  on  his  grave  in  the  shape 
of  a  black  cat  until  his  friends  set  a  cross  over  it.  I  ^ike 
to  be  a  woman,  I  do,  it  is  so  easy  to  be  wicked,  and  so  nice  ! 
I  always  tell  the  girls  that,  and  they  give  me  twice  as 
much  as  if  I  had  told  them  to  be  good  and  n  ce,  as  they 
call  it !  Pshaw !  nice  I  If  only  men  knew  us  as  we  really 
are!"  ■.  ' 

"Well,  I  do  not  like  women.  Mere  MaHieur,"  replied 
La  Corriveau,  "they  sneer  at  you  and  me,  and  call  us 
witch  and  sorceress,  and  they  will  lie,  steal,  kill  and  do 
worse  themselves  for  the  sake  of  one  man  to-day,  and 
cast  him  ofiE  for  sake  of  another,  to-morrow !  Wise  Solomon 
found  only  one  good  woman  in  a  thousand  ;  the  wisest 
man,  now,  finds  not  one  in  a  worldful !  It  were  better  all 
of  us  were  dead,  Mere  Malheur  ;  but  pour  me  out  a  glass 
of  wine,  for  I  am  tired  of  tramping  in  the  dark  to  the 
house  of  that  gay  lady  I  told  you  of." 

Mere  Malheur  poured  out  a  glass  of  choice  Beaume 
from  a  demi-jcaime,  which  she  had  received  from  a  roguish 
sailor,  who  had  stolen  it  from  his  ship. 

"  But  yoLi  have  not  told  me  who  slie  is,  Dame  Dodier," 
leplied  Mere  Malheur,  refilling  the  glass  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Nor  will  I  ycc.  She  is  fit  to  be  your  mistress  and 
mine,  whoever  she  is ;  but  I  shall  not  go  again  to  see 
her." 

An^  La  Corriveau  did  not  again  visit  the  house  of 
Ang^Iique.  She  had  received  from  her,  precise  information 
respecting  the  movements  of  the  Intendant.  He  had  gone 
to  the  Trois  Rivieres,  on  urgent  affairs,  and  might  be  ab- 
sent for  a  week. 

Angdlique  had  received  from  Varin,  in  reply  to  her 
eager  question  for  news,  a  short  falsified  account  of  the 


MERE  MALHEUR, 


45S 


to  her 
of  the 


proceedings  in   the   council   relative  to  Caroline,  and   of 
Bigot's  indignant  denial  of  all  knowlcdj^e  of  her. 

Varin,  as  a  member  of  the  council,  dared  not  reveal  the 
truth,  but  would  give  his  familiars  half  hints,  or  tell  to 
others  elaborate  lies  when  pressed  for  information.  He 
did  not  in  this  case  even  hint  at  the  fact  that  a  search  was 
to  be  made  for  Caroline.  V-fad  he  done  so,  Angdlique 
would  herself  have  given  secret  information  to  the  Gover- 
nor, to  order  the  search  of  Beaumanoir,  and  thus  got  her 
rival  out  of  the  way  without  trouble,  risk  or  crime. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  little  word  that  would  have 
set  her  active  spirit  on  fire  to  aid  in  the  search  for  Caro- 
line was  not  spoken,  and  her  thoughts  remained  immove- 
ably  fixed  upon  her  death. 

But  if  Ang^lique  had  been  misled  by  Varin,  as  to  what 
had  passed  at  the  council,  Mfere  Malheur,  through  her 
intercourse  with  a  servant  of  Varin,  had  learned  the  truth. 
An  eavesdropping  groom  had  overheard  his  master  and 
the  Intendant  conversing  on  the  letters  of  the  Baron  and 
of  La  Pompadour.  The  man  told  his  sweetheart,  who, 
coming  with  some  stolen  sweetmeats  to  M^re  Malheur, 
told  her,  who  in  turn  was  not  long  in  imparting  what  she 
had  heard  to  La  Corriveau. 

La  Corriveau  did  not  fail  to  see  that  should  Angelique 
discover  that  her  rival  was  to  be  searched  for,  and  taken  to 
France  if  found,  she  would  at  once  change  her  mind,  and 
Caroline  would  be  got  rid  of  without  need  of  her  interference. 
But  La  Corriveau  had  got  her  hand  in  the  dish.  She  was 
not  one  to  lose  her  promised  reward  or  misb  the  chance 
of  so  cursed  a  deed  by  any  untimely  avowal  of  what  she 
knew.  , 

So  Angdlique  was  doomed  to  remain  in  ignorance  until 
too  late.  She  became  the  dupe  of  her  own  passions  and 
the  dupe  of  La  Corriveau,  who  carefully  concealed  from 
her  a  secret  so  important. 

Bigot's  denial  in  the  council  weighed  nothing  with  her. 
She  felt  certain  that  the  lady  was  no  other  than  Caroline 
de  St.  Castin.  Ange'lique  was  acute  enough  to  perceive 
that  Bigot's  bold  assertion  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her 
bound  him  in  a  chain  of  obligation  never  to  confess  after- 
wards aught  to  the  contrary.  She  eagerly  persuaded  her- 
self that  he  would  not  regret  to  hear  that  Caroline  had 
died  by  some  sudden  and,  to  appearance,  natural  death, 


1 1  i 


45<» 


T//£  CUIEN  D'OR. 


\ 

i  i 

; 

W 

' 

'  1) 

and  thus  relieved  him  of  a  danger,  and  her  of  an  obstacie 
to  her  marriage. 

Without  making  a  full  confidante  of  Mbre  Malheur,  La 
Corriveau  resolved  to  make  use  of  her  in  carrying  out  her 
diabolical  scheme.  Mfere  Maiiieur  had  once  been  a  ser- 
vant at  Beaumanoir.  She  knew  the  house,  and  in  her  hey- 
day of  youth  and  levity  had  often  smugj^led  herself  in  and 
out  by  the  subterranean  passage  which  connected  the 
solitary  watch-tower  with  the  vaults  of  the  chateau.  Mfere 
Malheur  knew  Dame  Tremblay,  who  as  the  charming 
Josephine,  had  often  consulted  her  upon  the  perplexities  of 
a  heart  divided  among  too  many  lovers. 

The  memory  of  that  fragrant  period  of  her  life  was  the 
freshest  and  pleasantcst  of  all  Dame  Tremblay's  experi- 
ence. It  was  like  the  odor  ci  new  mown  hay,  telling  of 
early  summer  and  frolics  in  the  green  fields.  She  liked 
nothing  better  than  to  talk  it  all  over,  in  her  snug  room, 
with  Mfere  Malheur,  as  they  sat  opposite  one  another  at 
her  little  table,  each  with  a  cup  ol'  tea  in  her  hand,  well 
laced  with  brandy,  which  was  a  favorite  weakness  of  them 
both.  • 

Dame  Tremblay  was  in  private  neither  nice  nor  squeam- 
ish as  to  the  nature  of  her  gossip.  She  and  the  old  fortune- 
teller, when  out  of  sight  of  the  rest  of  the  servants,  had 
always  a  dish  of  the  choicest  scandal,  fresh  from  the 
city. 

La  Corriveau  resolved  to  send  Mhre  Malheur  to  Beau- 
manoir, under  the  pretence  of  paying  a  visit  to  Dame 
Tremblay,  in  order  to  open  a  way  of  communication  be- 
tween herself  and  Caroline.  She  had  learned  enough 
during  her  brief  interview  with  Caroline,  in  the  forest  of  St. 
Valier  and  from  what  she  now  heard  respecting  the  Baron 
de  St.  Castin,  to  convince  her,  that  this  was  no  other  than 
his  missing  daughter. 

"  If  Caroline  could  only  be  induced  to  admit  La  Corri- 
veau into  her  secret  chamber,  and  take  her  into  her  confi- 
dence, the  rest — all  the  rest,"  muttered  the  hag  to  herself, 
with  terrible  emphasis,  "  would  be  easy,  and  my  reward 
suie.  But  that  reward  shall  be  measured  in  my  own 
bushet:  not  in  yours,  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,  when  the 
deed  is  done  ! 

La  Coriiveau  knew  the  power  such  a  secret  would  enable 
her  to  exercise  over  Angelique.     She  already  regarded  the 


MERE  MALHEUR, 


451 


Corri- 

confi- 

lerself, 

-eward 


mable 
ed  the 


half  of  her  reputed  riches  as  her  own.  "  Neither  she  nof 
the  Intendant  will  ever  dare  neglect  me  after  that !  "  said 
she.  "When  once  Angdlique  shall  be  linked  in  with  mo 
by  a  secret  compact  of  blood,  the  fortune  of  La  Corriveau 
is  made.  If  the  death  of  this  girl  i)e  the  elixir  of  life  to 
you,  it  shall  be  the  touchstone  of  fortune  for  ever  to  La 
Corriveau ! "  ,        r  ^ 

Mbre  Malheur  was  next  day  despatched  on  a  visit  to 
her  old  gossip  Dame  Tremblay.  She  had  been  well  tu- 
tored on  every  point  what  to  say,  and  how  to  demean  her- 
self. She  bore  a  letter  to  Caroline,  written  in  the  Italian 
hand  of  La  Corriveau,  who  had  learned  to  write  well  from 
her  mother  Marie  Exili.  :  Juifi 

The  mere  possession  of  the  art  of  writing  was  a  rarity 
in  those  days,  in  the  class  among  whom  she  lived.  La 
Corriveau's  ability  to  write  at  all  was  a  circumstance  as 
remarkable  to  her  illiterate  neighbors  as  the  possession  of 
the  black  art  which  they  ascribed  to  her,  and  not  without 
a  strong  suspicion  that  it  had  the  same  origin.  :* 

Mere  Malheur,  in  anticipation  of  a  cup  of  tea  and 
brandy  with  Dame  Tremblay,  had  dressed  herself,  with 
some  appearance  of  smartness,  in  a  clean,  striped  gown  of 
linsey.  A  peaked  Artois  hat  surmounted  a  broad-frilled 
cap,  which  left  visible  some  tresses  of  coarse  grey  hair  and 
a  pair  of  silver  ear-rings,  which  dangled  with  every  motion 
of  her  head.  Her  shoes  displayed  broad  buckles  of  brass, 
and  her  short  petticoat  showed  a  pair  of  stout  ankles,  en- 
closed in  red  clocked  stockings.  She  carried  a  crutched 
stick  in  her  hand,  by  help  of  which  she  proceeded  vigor- 
«*usly  on  her  journey. 

Starting  in  the  morning,  she  trudged  out  of  the  city 
towards  the  ferry  of  Jean  Le  Nocher,  who  carefully  crossed 
himself  and  his  boat  too  as  he  took  Mere  Malheur  on 
board.  He  wafted  her  over  in  a  hurry,  as  something  to  be 
g  M  rid  of  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Jean  would  not  even  have  accepted  his  fare  from  her 
had  not  Dame  Babet — always  at  hand,  noticed  his  hesita- 
tion. She  stepped  pioniptly  up  and  took  the  coin  from 
the  hand  of  Mere  Malheur.  Dropping  it  in  her  capacious 
pocket,  she  remarked  to  her  husband,  "  You  are  always  a 
fool,  Jean.  Good  money  never  smells  !  besides,  we  will 
pay  it  to  the  Church  as  a  christening  fee,  and  that  will 
make  it  clean  as  the  face  of  St.  Catherine." 


-^.1 


t  '■«  i 


M 


\    "i 


-il.' 


458  THE  CniRN  D'OI^ 

M^re  Malheur,  although  accustomed  to  slights  aiid 
scorns  when  she  appeared  in  public,  was  provoked  at  the 
remark  of  Babet.  She  struck  her  stick  violently  into  the 
ground,  and  lifting  up  a  bony  finger,  exclaimed,  "Devil 
n"  away  with  you,  Dame  Babet !  A  bad  witch  was  spoiled 
wnen  you  became  the  wife  of  an  honest  man !  Your  red 
cheeks  will  be  as  vhitc  as  chalk  before  you  get  another 
when  you  lose  him.  Look  here,"  continued  she,  drawing  1 
with  the  end  of  her  stick  the  figure  of  a  pentagram  upon 
the  sand,  "  when  that  mark  is  rubbed  out  and  gone,  look 
out  for  a  misforhme  !  I  do  not  cause  it,  mind  you,  I  only 
predict  it !  So  nuw.  Dame  13abet,  good  speed  to  my  journey 
and  bad  luck  to  your  staying  at  home  !  " 

The  old  crone  wheeled  round,  and  dinting  her  stick 
hard  into  the  ground  at  every  step,  moved  away  quickly, 
leaving  Jean  stupefied  with  terror  and  Babet  flaming  with 
anger,  as  she  clapped  her  hands  and  vociferated,  *'  Aroint 
you  for  a  witch.  Mere  Malheur !  May  you  go  up  to  the 
moon  in  the  flames  of  a  tar-barrel  !  Bad  speed  to  your 
journey,  for  good  it  cannot  be  !  " 

She  has  left  the  devil's  mark  on  the  sand,  Babet,"  said 
Jean,  disconsolately.  "  Shall  we  rub  it  out,  or  get  the  cure 
to  sprinkle  it  with  holy  water  ?  There  will  be  sure  to  come 
some  misfortune  to  somebody  after  that." 

"  Well,  if  the  misfortune  only  does  not  come  to  us — and 
she  did  not  say  it  would — ^Jean,  we  need  not  cry  tears.  But 
let  the  mark  remain,  Jean,  and  the  cure  shall  rub  it  out 
and  avert  the  bad  luck  she  has  threatened."  Babet  was 
less  brave  over  the  witch  mark  than  she  pretended  to  be. 

Jean  felt  uneasy,  and  agreed  with  Babet  that  it  were 
best  to  preserve  the  mark  as  long  as  possible,  seeing  that 
bad  luck  was  to  accompany  its  disappearance.  He  ran  to 
the  cottage  and  brought  out  a  tub,  which  he  turned  care- 
fully over  the  pentagram  to  prevent  its  being  obliterated 
before  the  arrival  of  the  cure^  who  was  to  be  informed  of 
this  strange  proceeding  of  Mere  Malheur. 

The  old  crone  went  on  her  way,  cursing  and  laughing 
by  turns,  as  she  passed  up  the  long  hill  of  Charlebourg. 
She  rested  herself  for  a  time  under  the  old  tree  in  front  of 
the  Couronne  de  France,  where  two  or  three  habitans  sat 
enjoy'ng  their  mugs  of  cider,  and  who  promptly  moved  from 
their  seat  to  make  room  for  her. 

She  sat  down,  looking  at  them  with  her  bleared  eyes, 


.\fEJiE  MALHEUR. 


459 


imtil  they  shied  off  one  by  one,  leaving  her  alone  with  the 
5tout  landlady,  Dame  Bedard,  and  her  pretty  daughter 
Zoe,  who  at  once  pl"nged  into  conversation  with  the  old 
woman,  and  final iy  demanded  that  she  should  tell  Zoe's 
fortune,  and  what  was  to  happen  after  her  marriage  with 
Antoine  La  Chance. 

Mfere  Malheur  Fatisfied  the  curiosity  of  the  mother  and 
daugii*er  by  a  circumstantial  lie  of  the  object  of  her  pres- 
ent journey,  and  having  had  her  hand  duly  crossed  with  a 
piece  of  silver,  she  told  Zoe's  fortune  in  a  way  that  suffused 
her  maiden  cheeks  with  happy  blushes,  and  made  her  cry 
out,  "  That  Mere  Malheur,  no  matter  what  folks  said,  was 
the  dearest  and  tru  tiest  old  woman  in  the  land  ;  that  she 
believed  every  word  told  by  her  would  come  true,  and  that 
time  would  make  it  ti  ue." 

Zoe  for  a  lo  'g  time  would  not  tell  her  mother  what  the 
fortune-teller  had  said,  but  when  she  did,  both  mother  and 
daughter  laughed  and  looked  as  happy  as  godmothers  at  a 
christening. 

Mere  Malheur,  although  but  half  trusted  by  La  Corri- 
veau,  instinctively  guessed  something  of  the  nature  of  her 
black  errand,  and  was  as  impatient  for  its  accomplishment 
as  if  the  ill  had  been  all  of  her  own  contriving. 

Mere  Malheui  tramped  on,  like  a  heavy  gnome,  through 
the  fallen  and  flying  leaves  of  the  woods  of  Beaumanoir, 
caring  nothing  for  the  golden,  hazy  sky,  the  soft,  balmy 
air,  or  the  varicolored  leaves — scarlet,  yellow,  and  brown, 
of  every  shade  and  tinge,  that  hung  upon  the  autumnal 
trees. 

A  frosty  night  or  two  had  ushered  in  the  summer  o'i  St. 
Martin,  as  it  was  called  by  the  habitans — the  Indian  sum- 
mer— that  brief  time  of  glory  and  enchantment,  which  visits 
us  like  a  gaudy  herald  to  announce  the  approach  of  the 
Winter  King.  It  is  nature's  last  rejoicing  in  the  sunshine 
and  the  open  air,  liVe  the  splendor  and  gaiety  of  a  maiden 
devoted  to  the  cloister,  who  for  a  few  weeks  is  allowed  to 
flutter  like  a  bird  of  paradise  amid  the  pleasures  and  gaie- 
ties of  the  world,  and  then  comes  the  end.  Her  locks  of 
pride  are  shorn  off  ;  she  veils  her  beauty,  and  kneels  a  nun 
ori  the  cold  stones  of  her  passionless  ceU,  out  of  which, 
even  with  repentance,  there  comes  no  deliverance. 

Mere  Malheur's  arrival  at  Beaumanoir  was  speedily 
known  to  all  the  servants  of  the  chateau.     She  did  not 


»•  « 


460 


THE  C/f/HX  //P.f. 


I 


'M&iMil 

mmi 

s 

i' 

often  visit  them,  but  >ahen  she  did,  there  was  .1  hurried 
recital  of  an  ave  or  t  vo  to  avert  any  harm,  follov  u  i  by  a 
patronizing  welcome  and  a  rummage  for  small  olns  to 
cross  her  hand  withal,  in  return  for  her  solutions  of  the 
grave  uestions  of  love,  jealousy,  money,  and  marriage, 
which  rmented  secretly  or  openly  '1  the  bosoms  of  all  of 
them.  They  were  but  human  beii^' :,  food  for  imposture, 
and  preyed  on  by  deceivers.  The  visit  of  Mere  Malheur 
was  an  event  of  interest  in  l>3th  kitchen  and  laundry  of 
the  chateau. 

Dame  Tremblay  had  the  first  claim,  however,  upon  this 
singular  visitor.  She  met  her  at  the  back  door  of  the 
ch&teau,  and  with  a  face  beaming  with  smiles,  and,  dro{> 
ping  all  dignity,  exclaimed, — 

•*  Mere  Malheur,  upon  my  life  I  Welcome,  you  wicked 
old  soul  1  you  surely  knew  I  wanted  to  see  you !  come  in 
and  rest  I  you  must  be  tired  unless  you  came  on  a  broom  I 
ha  1  ha  I  come  to  my  room  and  never  mind  anybody  I  " 

This  last  remark  was  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
.servants  who  stood  peeping  at  every  door  and  corner  not 
daring  to  speak  to  the  old  woman  in  the  presence  of  the 
housekeeper ;  but,  knowing  that  their  time  would  come, 
they  had  patience. 

ti  Tlic  housekeeper,  giving  them  a  severe  look,  proceeded 
to  Iter  own  snug  appartment,  followed  by  the  crone,  whom 
slic*  seated  in  her  easiest  chair  and  proceeded  to  refresh 
with  a  glass  of  cognac,  which  was  swallowed  with  much 
relish  and  wiping  of  lips,  accompanied  by  a  little  artificial 
cough.  Dame  Tremblay  kept  a  carafe  of  it  in  her  room  to 
raise  the  temperature  of  her  low  spirits  and  vapors  to 
summer  heat ;  not  that  she  drank,  far  from  it,  but  she  liked 
to  sip  a  little  for  her  stomach's  sake. 

"  It  is  only  a  thimbleful  I  take  now  and  then,"  she 
said.  *'  When  1  was  the  charming  Josephine,  I  used  to 
kiss  the  cups  I  presented  to  the  young  gallants  and  I  took 
no  more  than  a  fly !  but  they  always  drank  bumpers  from 
the  cup  I  kissed ! "  The  old  Dame  looked  grave  as  she 
shook  her  head  and  remarked :  "  But  we  cannot  be  always 
young  and  handsome,  can  we  Mere  Malheur.?" 

"  No,  Dame,  but  w^e  can  be  jolly  and  fat,  and  that  is 
what  we  are  1  You  don't  quaff  life  by  thimblefuls,  and  you 
only  want  a  stout  otfer  to  show  the  world  that  you  can 
trip  as  briskly  to  church  yet,  as  any  girl  in  New  France  1 " 


URflE  MALHEUR, 


4^1 


"  she 

jed  to 

took 

from 

s  she 

ilways 


The  humor  of  the  old  crone  convulsed  Dame  Trem- 
blaywith  laughter,  as  if  sortie  invisible  fingers  were  tick- 
ling her  wildly  under  the  arnij-its.  .;* 

She  composed  herself  at  last,  and  drawing  her  chaff 
close  to  that  of  Merc  Malheur,  looked  her  inquiringly  in 
the  face  and  asked,  "  what  is  the  news  ? " 

Dame  Tremblay  was  endowed  with  more  than  the 
ordinary  curiosity  of  her  sex.  She  knew  more  news  of 
city  and  country  than  any  one  else,  and  she  dispensed  it 
as  freely  as  she  ^at'^ored.  She  never  let  her  stock  of  go^ 
sip  run  low,  and  icv^r  allowed  man  cr  woman  to  com«;  lo 
speak  with  her  '  'U  pumping  them  dry  of  all  they  1-  ^w  \ 
A  secret  in  an\  'ssession  set  her  wild  to  possess  it, 

and  she  gave  n*     e«-  ,er  inordinate  curiosity  until  she 

had  fished  it  oui  the  muddiest  waters. 

The  mystery  that  in  ng  round  Caroline  was  a  source  of 
perpetual  irritation  to  the  nerves  of  Dame  Tremblay.  She 
had  tried  as  far  as  she  dared  by  hint  and  suggestion  to 
draw  from  the  lady  some  reference  to  her  name  and  family, 
but  in  vain.  Caroline  would  avow  nothing,  and  Dame 
Tremblay,  completely  baffled  by  a  failure  of  ordinary  means 
to  find  out  the  secret,  bethought  herself  of  her  old  resource 
in  case  of  perplexity.  Mere  Malheur. 

For  several  days  she  had  been  brooding  over  this  mode 
of  satisfying  her  curiosity,  when  the  unexpected  visit  of 
Mere  Malheur,  set  aside  all  further  hesitation  about  dis- 
obeying the  Intendant's  orders,  not  to  inquire  or  allow  any 
other  person  to  make  inquisition  respecting  Caroline. 

"  Mere  Malheur  !  you  feel  comfortable  now  1 "  said  she. 
"  That  glass  of  cognac  has  given  you  a  color  like  a 
peony ! " 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  comfortable  now,  Dame  I  your  cog- 
nac is  heavenly !  It  warms  without  burning.  That  glass 
is  the  best  news  I  have  to  tell  of  to-day  I  " 

"  Nay,  but  there  is  always  something  stirring  in  the 
city  ;  somebody  born,  married  or  dead,  somebody  courted, 
won,  lost  or  undone !  somebody's  name  up,  somebody's 
reputation  down  I  Tell  me  all  you  know,  Mere  Malheur  1 
and  then  I  will  tell  you  some  hing  will  make  you  glad  you 
came  to  Beaumanoir  to  day.  Take  another  sip  of  cognac 
and  begin ! " 

"  Aye,  Dame,  that  is  indeed  a  temptation  1 "  she  took 
two  deep  sips  and  holding  her  glass  in  her  hand,  began  ' 


^, 


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with  loose  tongue  to  relate  the  current  gossip  of  the  city, 
which  although  already  known  to  Dame  Tremblay,  an  ill 
natured  version  of  it  from  the  lips  of  her  visitor  seemed  to 
give  it  a  fresh  seasoning  and  a  relish  which  it  had  not  pte« 
viously  possessed. 

"  Now,  Mere  Malheur !  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,** 
said  Dame  Tremblay,  in  a  low  confidential  tone,  "  a  dead 
secret  1  mind  you,  which  you  had  better  be  burnt  than 
reveal.  There  is  a  lady,  a  real  lady  if  I  ever  saw  one, 
living  in  the  Chateau  here,  in  the  greatest  privacy.  I  and 
the  Intendant  only  see  her.  She  is  beautiful  and  full  of 
sorrow  as  the  picture  of  the  blessed  Madonna.  What  she 
is,  I  may  guess  ;  but  who  she  is  I  cannot  conjecture,  and 
would  give  my  little  finger  to  know !  " 

"  Tut,  Dame  !  "  replied  Mere  Malheur  with  a  touch  of 
confidence,  "  I  will  not  believe  any  woman  could  keep  a 
secret  from  you !  But  this  is  news  indeed ;  you  tell  me  1 
A  lady  in  concealment  here?  and  you  say  you  cannot 
nnd  her  out  ?   Dame  Tremblay  !  " 

"  In  truth  I  cannot,  I  have  tried  every  artifice,  but  she 
passes  all  my  wit  and  skill.  If  she  were  a  man  I  would 
have  drawn  her  very  teeth  out  with  less  difficulty  than  I 
have  tried  to  extract  the  name  of  this  lady.  When  I  was 
the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beauport  I  could  wind 
men  like  a  thread  round  which  finger  I  liked,  but  this  is  a 
tangled  knot  which  drives  me  to  despair  to  unravel  it. 

"What  do  you  know  about  her.  Dame  t  tell  me  all  you 
suspect!  "  said  Mere  Malheur.  ' 

"  Truly,"  replied  the  Dame,  without  the  least  asperity, 
*  I  suspect  the  poor  thing,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  no  better 
than  she  should  be ;  and  the  Intendant  knows  it  and  Mad- 
emoiselle de  Meloises  knows  it,  too,  and  to  judge  by  her 
constant  prayers  and  penitence,  she  knows  it  herself,  but 
too  well  and  will  not  say  it  to  me  I  "  '     :^-^':->^^* 

'*  Aye,  Dame !  but  this  is  great  news  you  tell  me  I " 
replied  Mere  Malheur,  eagerly  clutching  at  the  opportunity 
thus  offered  for  the  desired  interview.  *'  But  what  help  do 
you  expect  from  me  in  the  matter  ?  "  Mere  Malheur  looked 
very  expectant  at  her  friend,  who  continued :  "  I  want  you 
to  see  that  lady,  under  promise  of  secrecy,  mark  you  1  and 
look  at  her  hands  and  tell  me  who  and  what  she  is." 

Dame  Tremblay  had  an  unlimited  faith  in  the  super 
stitions  of  her  age.  .  .,  ,    ,..,,,,, 


in 


MERE  MALHEUR, 


46s 


*"  r  will  do  all 


u  wish,  Dame,  but  you  must  allow  me 
to  see  her  alone,"  replied  the  crone,  who  felt  she  was  thus 
opening  the  door  to  La  Corriveau. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will  1  that  is  if  she  will  consent  to  be 
seen,  for  she  has  in  some  things  a  spirit  of  her  own  1  I  am 
afraid  to  push  her  too  closely !  The  mystery  of  her  is 
taking  the  flesh  off  my  bones,  and  I  can  only  get  sleep  by 
taking  strong  possets,  Mere  Malheur !  Feel  my  elbow ! 
feel  my  knee !  I  have  not  had  so  sharp  an  elbow,  or  knee, 
since  Goodman  Tremblay  died  !  and  he  said  I  had  the 
sharpest  elbow  and  knee  in  the  city !  but  I  had  to  punch 
him  sometimes  to  keep  him  in  order !  Buf  set  that  horrid 
cap  straight  Mere  Malheur  !  while  I  go  ask  her  if  she 
would  like  to  have  her  fortune  told.  She  is  not  a  woman 
if  she  would  not  like  to  know  her  fortune,  for  she  is  in  de- 
spair, I  think,  with  all  the  world ;  and  when  a  woman  is  in 
despair,  as  I  know  by  my  own  experience,  she  will  jump  at 
any  chance,  for  spite,  if  not  for  love,  as  I  did  when  I  took 
the  Sieur  Tremblay  by  your  advice.  Mere  Malheur !  " 

Dame  Tremblay  left  the  old  crone  making  hideous 
faces  in  a  mirror.  She  rubbed  her  cheeks  and  mouth  with 
the  comer  of  her  apron  as  she  proceeded  to  the  door  of 
Caroline's  apartment.  She  knocked  gently  and  a  low  soft 
voice  bade  her  enter.      '  ■      ^ 

Caroline  was  seated  on  a  chair  by  the  window  knitting 
her  sad  thoughts  into  a  piece  of  work  which  she  occasion- 
ally lifted  from  her  lap  with  a  sudden  start  as  something 
broke  the  train  of  her  reflections. 

She  was  weighing  over  and  over  her  in  thoughts  like  gold 
in  a  scale,  by  grains  and  pennyweights,  a  few  kind  words 
lately  spoken  to  her  by  Bigot  when  he  ran  in  to  bid  her 
adieu  before  departing  on  his  jouri.ey  to  the  Trois  Riviferes. 
They  seemed  a  treasure  inexhaustible  as  she  kept  on  re- 
peating them  to  herself.  The  pressure  of  his  hand  had  been 
warmer,  the  tone  of  his  voice  softer,  the  glance  of  his  eye 
more  kind,  and  he  looked  pityingly,  she  thought,  upon  her 
wan  face,  when  he  left  her  in  the  gallery,  and  with  a  cheery 
voice  and  a  kiss,  bade  her  take  care  of  her  health,  and  win 
back  the  lost  roses  of  Acadia. 

These  words  passed  through  her  mind  with  unceasing 
repetition,  and  a  white  border  of  light  was  visible  on  the 
edge  of  the  dark  cloud  wh  ch  hung  over  her.  "  The  roses 
of  Acadia  will  never  bloom  again,"   thought  she,  sadly. 


:***:■',: 


T       \ 


464 


THS  CIUEN  DOR. 


% 


**  I  have  watered  them  with  salt  tears  too  long  and  all  in 
vain.  O,.  Bigot,  I  fear  it  is  too  late,  too  late  !  '*  Still  hii 
last  look  and  last  words  reflected  a  faint  ray  of  hope  and 
|oy  upon  her  pallid  countenance. 

Dame  Tremblay  entered  the  apartment  and  while  busy- 
ing  herself  on  pretense  of  setting  it  in  order,  talked  in  her 
garrulous  way  of  the  little  incidents  of  daily  life  in  the 
ch&teau,  and  finished  by  a  mention,  as  if  it  were  casual,  of 
the  arrival  of  the  wise  woman  of  the  city,  who  knew  every- 
thing, who  could  interpret  dreams,  and  tell,  by  looking  in  a 
glass  or  in  your  hand,  things  past,  present  and  to  come. 

"  A  wonderful  woman,"  Dame  Tremblay  said,  "  a  peril- 
ous woman,  too,  not  safe  to  deal  with,  but  for  all  that  every 
one  runs  after  her,  and  she  has  a  good  or  bad  word  for 
every  person  who  consults  her.  For  my  part,"  continued 
the  dame,  "  she  foretold  my  marriage  with  the  Goodman 
Tremblay  long  before  it  happened,  and  she  also  foretold 
his  death  to  the  very  month  it  happened.  So  I  have  reason 
to  believe  in  her  as  well  as  to  be  thankful !  " 

Caroline  listened  attentively  to  the  dame's  remarks. 
She  was  not  superstitious,  but  yet  not  above  the  beliefs 
of  her  age,  while  the  Indian  strain  in  her  lineage  and  her 
familiarity  with  the  traditions  of  the  Abenaquais  inclined 
her  to  yield  more  than  ordinary  respect  to  dreams. 

Caroline  had  dreamed  of  riding  on  a  coal  black  horse, 
seated  behind  the  veiled  figure  of  a  man,  whose  face  she 
could  not  see,  who  carried  her  like  the  wind  away  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  there  shut  her  uf  a  mountain  for 
ages  and  ages,  until  a  bright  angel  clef*  .  rock  and  clasp- 
ing her  in  his  arms  bore  her  up  to  light  and  liberty  in  the 
presence  of  the  Redeemer  and  of  all  the  host  of  heaven. 

This  dream  lay  heavy  on  her  mind.  For  the  veiled 
figure  she  knew  was  one  she  loved^  but  who  had  no  honest 
love  for  her.  Her  mind  had  been  brooding  over  the  dream 
all  day,  and  the  announcement  by  Dame  Tremblay  of  the 
presence  in  the  chateau  of  one  who  was  able  to  interpret 
dreams,  seemed  a  stroke  of  fortune,  if  not  an  act  of  provi- 
dence. 

She  roused  herself  up,  and  with  more  animation  th^n 
Dame  Tremblay  had  yet  seen  in  her  countenance,  requested 
her  to  send  up  the  visitor  that  she  might  ask  her  a  question. 

M^re  Malheur  was  quickly  summoned  to  the  apartment 
oi  Caroline,  where  Dame  Tremblay  left  them  alone.       ^, 


MRkE  MAUiEUR.  4A1 

The  repulsive  look  of  the  old  crone  sent  a  shock  throti|(fa 
the  fine  nervous  organization  of  the  young  girl.  She  re- 
quested Mfcre  Malheur  to  be  seated,  however,  and  in  her 
gentle  manner  questioned  her  about  the  dream. 

Mfere  Malheur  was  an  adept  in  such  things,  and  knew 
well  how  to  humor  human  nature,  and  lead  it  to  put  its 
ownnnterpretations  upon  its  own  visions  and  desires  while 
giving  all  the  credit  of  it  to  herself. 

Mire  Malheur  therefore  interpreted  the  dream  accord- 
ing to  Caroline's  secret  wishes.  This  inspired  a  sort  of 
confidence  ;  and  Mbre  Malheur  seized  the  opportunity  to 
deliver  the  letter  from  La  Corriveau. 

"  My  lady,"  said  she,  looking  carefully  round  the  room 
to  note  if  the  door  was  shut  and  no  one  was  present,  **  I 
can  tell  you  more  than  the  interpretation  of  your  dream. 
I  can  tell  who  you  are  and  why  you  are  here  I  " 

Caroline  started  with  a  frightened  look,  and  stared  in 
the  face  of  Mbre  Malheur.  She  faltered  out  at  length  : 
"  You  know  who  1  am  and  why  I  am  here  ?  Impossible  I 
T  never  saw  you  before." 

"  No,  my  lady,  you  never  saw  me  before,  but  I  will 
convince  you  that  I  know  you.  You  are  the  daughter  of 
the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  I  Is  it  not  so  ?  "  The  old  crone 
looked  frightfully  knowing  as  she  uttered  these  words. 

"  Mother  of  mercies  I  what  shall  I  do  ? "  ejaculated 
the  alarmed  girl,  "  Who  are  you  to  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  but  a  messenger,  my  lady.  Listen  I  I  am  sent 
here  to  give  you  secretly  this  letter  from  a  friend  who 
knows  you  better  than  I,  and  who  above  all  things  desires 
an  interview  with  you,  as  she  has  things  of  the  deepest 
import  to  communicate." 

"  A  letter  I  O  what  mystery  is  all  this  ?     A  letter  for* 
me  !    Is  it  from  the  Intendant  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lady,  it  is  from  a  woman."  Caroline  blushed 
and  trembled  as  she  took  it  from  the  old-  crone. 

A  woman  1  It  flashed  upon  the  mind  of  Caroline  that 
the  letter  was  important.  She  opened  it  with  trembling 
fingers,  anticipating  she  knew  not  what  direful  tidings 
when  her  eyes  ran  over  the  clear  handwriting. 

La  Corriveau  had  written  to  the  effect  that  she  was  an 
unknown  friend,  desirous  of  serving  her  in  a  moment  of 
peril.  The  Baron  de  St.  Castin  had  traced,  her  to  New 
France,  and  had  procured  from  the  king  instructionst(t  the 


4cr> 


THE  CHIES  lyOR. 


\  S' 


Governor  to  search  for  her  everywhere,  and  to  send  her  t« 
France.  Other  things  of  great  import,  the  writer  said,  she 
had  also  to  communicate,  if  Caroline  would  grant  her  a  pri- 
vate interview  in  the  chateau. 

"  There  was  a  passage  leading  from  the  old  deserted 
watch  tower  to  the  vaulted  chamber,"  continued  the  letter, 
"and the  writer  would  without  further  notice  come  on  the 
following  night  to  Beaumanoir,  and  knock  at  the  arched  door 
of  her  chamber  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  when,  if  Caroline 
pleased  to  admit  her,  she  would  gladly  inform  her  of  very 
important  matters  relating  to  herself,  to  the  Intendant,  and 
to  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  who  was  on  his  way  out  to  the 
colony  to  conduct  in  person  the  search  after  his  los*. 
daughter." 

The  letter  concluded  with  the  information  "  that  the 
Intendant  had  gone  to  the  Trois  Riviferes  whence  he  might 
not  return  for  a  week,  and  that  during  his  absence  the 
Governor  would  probably  order  a  search  for  her  to  be 
made  at  Beaumanoir." 

Caroline  held  the  letter  convulsively  in  her  hand  as 
she  gathered  its  purport  rather  than  read  it.  Her  face 
changed  color  from  a  deep  flush  of  shame  to  the  palest 
hue  of  fear,  when  she  comprehended  its  meaning  and  un- 
derstood that  her  father  was  on  his  way  to  New  France  to 
find  out  her  hiding  place. 

"  What  shall  I  do  I  O,  what  shall  I  do ! "  exclaimed 
she,  wringing  her  hands  for  very  anguish,  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  Mbre  Malheur,  who  stood  observing  her  with 
eyes  glittering  with  curiosity,  but  void  of  every  mark  of 
womanly  sympathy  or  feeling. 

"  My  father,  my  loving  father  !  "  continued  Caroline, 
"  my  deeply  injured  father,  coming  here  with  anger  in  his 
face  to  drag  me  from  my  concealment  1  I  shall  drop  dead 
at  his  feet  for  very  shame.  O  that  I  were  buried  alive  with 
mountains  piled  over  me  to  hide  me  from  mv  father ! 
What  shall  I  do  ?  Whither  shall  I  go  ?  Bigot,  Bigot,  why 
have  you  forsaken  me  ? " 

Mfere  Malheur  continued  eyeing  her  with  cold  curiosity, 
but  was  ready  at  the  first  moment  to  second  the  prompt 
ings  of  the  evil  spirit  contained  in  the  letter. 

"  Mademoiselle."  said  she,  "  there  is  but  one  way  to 
escape  from  the  search  to  be  made  by  your  father  and  the 
Governor — take  counsel  of  her  who  sends  you  that  fnendly 

k4  's-r 


Uli 


if  EKE  MALHEVK. 


4«7 


letter.     She  can  offer  you  a  safe  hiding  place  until  the 
storm  blows  over.     Will  you  see  her,  my  lady  ?  " 

"  See  her  I  I,  who  dare  see  no  one !  Who  is  she  that 
sends  me  such  strange  news  ?  Is  it  truth  ?  Do  you  knon 
her  ? "  continued  she,  looking  fixedly  at  Mbre  Malheur,  as 
if  in  hope  of  reading  on  her  countenance  some  contradic- 
tion of  the  matter  contained  in  the  letter. 

"I  think  it  is  all  true,  my  lady,"  replied  she  with  mock 
humility,  "  I  am  but  a  poor  messenger,  however,  and  speak 
not  myself  of  things  I  do  not  know,  but  she  who  sends  me 
will  tell  you  all." 

"  Does  the  Intendant  know  her  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  told  her  to  watch  over  your  safety  during 
his  absence.  She  is  old  and  your  friend  ;  will  you  see 
her?"  replied  Mferc  Malheur,  who  saw  the  point  was 
gained. 

**  O  yes,  yes  I  tell  her  to  come.  Beseech  her  not  to  fail  to 
come,  or  I  shall  go  mad.  O  woman  !  you  too  are  old  and 
experienced  and  ought  to  know ;  can  she  help  me  in  this 
strait,  think  you?"  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her  hands 
in  a  gesture  of  entreaty. 

"  No  one  is  more  able  to  help  you,"  said  the  crone, 
"  she  can  counsel  you  what  to  do,  and  if  need  be,  find 
means  to  cojiceal  you  from  the  search  that  will  be  made 
for  you." 

"  Haste,  then,  and  bid  her  come  to-morrow  night ! 
Why  not  to-night  ?  "  Caroline  was  all  nervous  impatience. 
"  I  will  wait  her  coming  in  the  vaulted  chamber  ;  I  will 
watch  for  her  as  one  in  the  valley  of  death  watches  for  the 
angel  of  deliverance.  Bid  her  come,  and  at  midnight  to- 
morrow she  shall  find  the  door  of  the  secret  chamber  open 
to  admit  her." 

The  eagerness  of  the  ill-fated  girl  to  see  La  Corriveau 
outran  eVery  calculation  of  Mbre  Malheur.  It  was  in 
vain  and  useless  for  her  to  speak  further  on  the  subject ; 
Caroline  would  say  no  more.  Her  thoughts  ran  violently 
in  the  direction  suggested  by  the  artful  letter.  "  She 
would  see  La  Corriveau  to-morrow  night  and  would  make 
no  more  avowals  to  Mbre  Malheur,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Seeing  no  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her,  the  crone 
bade  her  a  formal  farewell,  looking  at  her  curiously  as  she 
did  so,  and  wondering  in  her  mind  if  she  should  ever  see 
her  again.     For  the  old  creature  had  a  shrewd  suspicion 


468 


Tffd  CHIEN  jyOX. 


that  La  Corriveau  had  not  told  her  all  her  inteDt  <  ns  with 
respect  to  this  singular  girl. 

Caroline  returned  her  salute  still  holding  the  jetter  in 
her  hand.  She  sat  down  to  peruse  it  again,  and  observed 
not  Mbre  Malheur's  equivocal  glance  as  she  turned  her 
eyes  for  the  last  time  upon  the  innocent  girl,  doomed  to 
receive  the  midnight  visit  from  La  Corriveau. 


,1  r. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 


OUTVENOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS  OF   NILE. 


i! :: 


11 


**  There  is  death  in  the  pot !  "  the  crone  muttered  as 
she  went  out — "  La  Corriveau  comes  not  here  on  her  own 
errand  either  I  That  girl  is  too  beautiful  to  live  and  to 
some  one  her  death  is  worth  gold  !  It  will  go  hard,  but  La 
Corriveau  shall  share  with  me  the  reward  of  the  work  of 
to-morrow  night !  " 

In  the  long  gallery  she  encountered  Dame  Tremblay 
"  ready  to  eat  her  up,"  as  she  told  La  Corriveau  afterwards, 
in  the  eagerness  of  her  curiosity  to  learn  the  result  of  her 
interview  with  Caroline. 

Mhre  Malheur  was  wary  and  accustomed  to  fence  with 
words.  It  was  necessary  to  tell  a  long  tale  of  circumstances 
to  Dame  Tremblay  but  not  necessary  nor  desirable  to  tell 
the  truth.  The  old  crone,  therefore,  as  soon  as  she  had 
seated  herself  in  the  easy  chair  of  the  housekeeper  and 
refreshed  herself  by  twice  accepting  the  dame's  pressing 
invitation  to  tea  and  cognac,  related,  with  uplifted  hands 
and  shaking  head,  a  narrative  of  bold  lies  regarding  what 
had  really  past  during  her  interview  with  Caroline. 

"  But  who  is  she,  Mhre  Malheur !  Did  she  tell  you  her 
name  ?  Did  she  show  you  her  palm  ? " 

"  Both  !  Dame,  both  1  She  is  a  girl  of  Ville  Marie  who 
has  run  away  from  her  parents  for  love  of  the  gallant 
Intendant  and  is  in  hiding  from  them.  They  wanted, to 
put  her  into  the  convent  to  cure  her  of  love.  The  convent 
always  cures  love,  dame,  beyond  the  power  of  philters  to 
revive  it  I  "  and  the  old  crone  laughed  inwardly  to  herseU 
as  if  she  doubted  her  own  saying. 


A... 


OUTVBNOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS  OF  NILE,       ^ 

ii    Dame  Tremblay  dissented  heartily  from  this  opinion. 

J,\  **  It  would  not  nave  cured  me,  when  I  was  the  charming 
osephine  of  Lake  Beauport,"  said  she  ; "  they  once  talked  of 
sending  me  to  the  convent  I  But  taw  !  all  the  young  gentle- 
men in  the  city  would  have  iiUed  the  parlor  to  see  me  on 
every  visiting-day.  There  is  nothing  they  admire  so  much 
as  a  pretty  nun,  Mbre  Malheur !  But  you  have  not  told 
me  all  about  my  lady.  What  did  she  say  ?  Docs  she  expect 
the  Intendant  to  marry  her  ?  Is  she  to  be  mistress  and  all 
of  the  Chateau?" 

"  She  is  the  mistress  of  the  Ch&teau  now,  dame  I  "  replied 
M^re  Malheur.  "  The  Intendant  will  refuse  her  nothing  and 
I  believe  he  will  marry  her  1  There,  that  is  all  I  know." 

"  No,  you  know  more  1  Did  she  not  tell  you  how  jealous 
she  was  of  that  bold  faced  Angdlique  des  M^loises,  who, 
they  say,  is  resolved  to  marry  the  Intendant  whether  he 
will  or  no  ? " 

"  No !  she  mentioned  not  her  name ;  but  she  loves  the 
Intendant  and  fears  every  woman  as  a  rival — and  with 
reason  ! "  chuckled  Mbre  Malheur. 

"  Aye  I  does  she  not ! "  replied  Dame  Tremblay.  "  She 
fears  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  more  than  poison  I  but  she 
would  not,  of  course,  tell  you  as  she  tells  me.  But  did  she 
not  tell  you  her  name,  Mfere  Malheur  ? " 

"  No  i  Girls  of  that  kind  and  in  her  condition  have 
generally  lost  their  name  without  finding  another ! "  said 
the  old  crone  with  a  mockins  laugh. 

*<  Well,  I  cannot  laugh  at  her !  "  replied  Dame  Tremblay 
kindlv.  "  If  her  good  name  is  gone,  it  was  for  love,  not  for 
hate !  It  is  only  your  women  without  hearts  who  laugh  at 
us  who  have  them.  If  all  the  world  itigh  at  her,  I  will 
not.  She  is  a  dear  angel,  and  I  love  her «  When  I  was  the 
charming  Josephine — '     *  -  - 

"  Aye  1  we  were  all  dear  angels  some  time  or  other,  dame ! 
and  the  world  is  full  of  iallen  ones  I  " — interupted  the  crone 
with  a  leer,  as  if  some  far-off  reminiscence  revisited  her 
fancy. 

"  When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beau- 
port,  I  was  going  to  say,  but  you  always  interrupt  me, 
Mbre  Malheur  I  No  one  could  say  black  was  mv  nail  or 
if  they  did,  they  lied  !  "  exclaimecf  the  dame  with  a  little 
heat — ^but  presently  reflectinjf  that  Mfere  Malheur  had 
received  all  her  tender  confessions  and  knew  all  her  secret! 


■^  /^ 


1 


470 


TEE  CHJEN  r^OR. 


;;i:. 


•I 


concerning  more  than  a  score  of  admirers,  she  burst  out 
laughing,  and  pouring  out  the  old  crone  another  cup,  badi 
her  "  go  down  stairs  and  tell  the  fortunes  of  the  idle  girls  in 
the  kitchen,  who  were  not  putting  a  hand  to  a  single  thing 
in  the  house,  until  she  settled  their  curiosity  about  the  worth- 
less men,  who  filled  their  heads  and  caused  them  to  empty 
their  pockets  of  their  last  coin  to  bestow  it  on  ribbons,  combs 
and  fortune-tellers  I  Such  ridicubus  things  are  p^rls  now-a- 
days  with  their  high  heels  and  paint  and  patches  that  one 
cannot  tell  the  mistress  from  the  maid  any  more  I  When 
I  was  the  charming  Josephine — "  "  ^'^^  ^'  ''"^' 

Mfere  Malheur  cut  short  the  impending  story,  by  getting 
up  and  going  at  once  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  did  not 
dally  long  with  the  girls,  "  but  fed  them  with  big  spoonfuls 
of  good  fortune,"  she  said,  "  and  sent  them  to  bed  happy 
as  expectant  brides,  that  night !  *' 

The  crone,  eager  to  return  to  La  Corriveau  with  the 
account  of  her  successful  interview  with  Caroline,  bade 
Dame  Tremblay  a  hasty  but  formal  farewell  and,  with  her 
crutched  stick  in  her  hand,  trudged  stoutly  back  to  the 
city. 

Mfere  Malheur,  while  the  sun  was  yet  high,  reached  her 
cottage  under  the  rock  where  La  Corriveau  was  eagerly 
expecting  her  at  the  window.  The  moment  she  entered, 
the  masculine  voice  of  La  Corriveau  was  heard  asking 
loudly : 

"  Have  you  seen  her,  Mfere  Malheur  ?  Did  you  give  her 
the  letter  ?  Never  mind  your  hat !  tell  me  before  you  take 
it  off  I  "  The  old  crone  was  tugging  at  the  strings  and  La 
Corriveau  came  to  help  her.  *>!  vsff^^fCi  ji;  ;^  .;u;. 

"  Yes  I  she  took  your  letter,"  replied  she,  impatiently. 
**  She  took  my  story  like  spring  water.  Go  at  the  stroke  of 
twelve  to-morrow  night  and  she  will  let  you  in,  Dame  Dodier  1 
but  will  she  let  you  out  again  ?  eh ! "  The  crone  stood 
with  hei  hat  in  her  hand — and  looked,  with  a  wicked  glance, 
at  La  Corriveau.     ^^-nm-t  •  tn^-%'Sii .  f^f:;.-^  iv  rsi  ^^JiA  fe  li ; ■ 

**  If  she  will  let  me  in,  I  shall  let  myself  out,  Mfere  Mal- 
heur," replied  Corriveau  in  a  low  tone.  "  But  why  do  yon 
ask  that?" 

"P  ise  I  read  mischief  in  your  eye,  and  see  it  twitch- 
ing in  your  thumb,  and  you  do  not  ask  me  to  share 
your  secret !  Is  it  so  bad  as  that.  Dame  Dodier  ?  "  ^—tf;  '■; 

"  Pshaw  I  you  are  sharing  it  1  wait  and  you  will  se« 


Ot/TVEATOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS  OF  NILE, 


4|1 


/our  share  of  it!  But  tell  rrc,  M6rc  Malheur,  how  does 
she  look,  this  myilerious  lady  of  tlie  Ch/ltcau  ?  "  La  Cor- 
riveau  sat  down  and  placed  her  long  thin  hand  on  the  arm 
of  the  old  crone. 

"  Like  one  doomed  to  die,  because  she  is  too  good 
to  live.  Sorrow  is  a  bad  pasture  for  a  young  creature  liko 
her  to  feed  on,  Dame  Dodier !  "  was  the  answer,  but  it  did 
not  change  a  muscle  on  the  face  of  La  Corrivcau. 

"  Aye !  but  there   are  worse  pastures   than  sorrow  for 
young  creatures  like  her,  and  she  has  found  one  of  them/ 
she  replied  coldly. 

"  Well !  as  we  make  our  bed  so  must  we  lie  on  it, 
Dame  Dodier  1  that  is  what  I  always  tell  the  young  silly 
things  who  come  to  me  asking  their  fortunes  ;  and  the  pro- 
verb pleases  them.  They  always  think  the  bridal  bed  must 
be  soft  an4  well  made,  at  any  rate." 

"They  are  fools!  better  make  their  death  bed  than 
their  bridal  bed  !  But  I  must  see  this  piece  of  perfection 
of  yours  to-morrow  night,  dame !  The  Intendant  returns 
in  two  days  and  he  might  remove  her.  Did  she  tell  you 
about  him  ? " 

"^  "  No  I  Bigot  is  a  devil  more  powerful  than  the  one  we 
serve,  dame.     I  fear  him  I " 

"  Tut  I  I  fear  neither  devil  nor  man.  It  was  to  be  at 
the  hour  of  twelve  !  Did  you  not  say  at  the  hour  of  twelve, 
Mere  Malheur?*'  (-^      ^ 

"  Yes  I  go  in  by  the  vaulted  passage  and  knock  at  the 
secret  door.  She  will  admit  you.  But  what  will  you  do 
with  her.  Dame  Dodier  ?  Is  she  doomed  ?  Could  you  not 
be  gentle  with  her,  dame  ?  " 

There  was  a  fall  in  the  voice  of  Mere  Malheur — an 
intonation  partly  due  to  fear  of  consequences,  partly  to 
a  fibre  of  pity  v;hich — dry  and  disused — something  in 
the  look  of  Caroline  had  stirred  like  a  dead  leaf  quivering 
in  the  wind. 

"  Tut  1  has  she  melted  your  old  dry  heart  to  pity,  Mere 
Malheur  I  ha !  ha  !  who  would  have  thought  that  I  and  yet  I 
remember  she  made  a  soft  fool  of  me  for  a  minute,  in  the 
wood  of  StValier  I "  La  Corriveau  spoke  in  a  hard  tone  as  if, 
in  reproving  Mere  Malheur,  she  was  also  reproving  herself. 

"  She  is  unlike  any  other  woman  I  ever  saw,"  replied 
the  crone,  ashamed  of  her  unwonted  sympathy.  "The 
devil  is  clean  out  of  her  as  he  is  out  of  a  church  " 


«7» 


THS  CNtBlf  iroK. 


Ul 


■  t  ' 
I 


"You  are  a  fool,  M^re  Malheur!  Out  of  a  churck 
quotha ! "  and  La  Corriveau  laughed  a  lou(l  laugh ;  "  why  I 

Eo  to  church  myself,  and  whisper  my  prayers  backwards  to 
eep  on  terms  with  the  devil,  who  stands  nodding  behind 
the  altar  to  every  one  of  my  petitions  1  That  is  more 
than  some  people  get  in  return  for  their  prayers,"  added 
•he. 

"  I  pray  backwards  in  church  too.  Dame,  but  I  could 
never  get  sight  of  him  there,  as  you  do,  something  always 
blinds  me !  "  and  the  two  old  sinners  laughed  together  at 
the  thought  of  the  devil's  litanies  they  recited  in  the  church. 

"  But  how  to  get  to  Beaumanoir.?  I  shall  have  to  walk, 
as  you  did,  M^re  Malheur.  It  is  a  vile  road,  and  I  must 
take  the  by-way  through  the  forest.  It  were  worth  my  life  to 
be  seen  on  this  visit,**  said  La  Corriveau,  conning  on  her 
fingers  the  difficulties  of  the  by-path,  which  she  was  well 
acquainted  with,  however. 

"  There  is  a  moon  after  nine,  by  which  hour  you  can 
reach  the  wood  of  Beaumanoir,"  observed  the  crone. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  know  the  way,  Dame  Dodier  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  the  way  into  my  gown  !  I  know  an  Indian 
Canotier  who  will  ferry  me  across  to  Beauport,  and  say 
nothing.  I  dare  not  allow  that  prying  knave,  Jean  le 
Nocher,  or  his  sharp  wife,  to  mark  my  movements." 

"  Well  thought  of,  Dame  Dodier,  you  are  of  a  craft  and 
subtlety  to  cheat  Satan  himself  at  a  game  of  hide  and 
seek  1 "  The  crone  looked  with  genuine  admiration, 
almost  worship,  at  La  Corriveau  as  she  said  this,  *'  but  I 
doubt  he  will  find  both  of  us  at  last,  Dame,  when  we  have 
got  into  our  last  corner."  ;.:. 

"Well,  Vogue  la  Galiref"  exclaimed  La  Corriveau, 
starting  up.  "  Let  it  go  as  it  will !  I  shall  walk  to  Beau- 
manoir, and  I  shall  fancy  I  wear  golden  garters  and  silver 
slippers  to  make  the  way  easy  and  pleasant.  But  you  must 
be  hungry,  Mfere,  with  your  long  tramp.    I  have  a  supper 

frepared  for  you,  so  come  and  eat  in  the  Devil's  name,  or 
shall  be  tempted  to  say  grace,  /Vi  Nomine  Domini^  and 
choke  you." 

The  two  women  went  to  a  small  table  and  sat  down 
to  a  plentiful  meal  of  such  things  as  formed  the  dainties 
of  persons  of  their  rank  of  life.  Upon  the  table  siood  the 
dish  cf  sweetmeats  which  the  thievish  maid  servant  had 
brougiit  to  Mere   Malheur  with  the  groom's  story  cf  the 


OVTVES'OSfS  AIL  THE  IVOJifA/S  OF  Nti^. 


473 


conversation  between  Bij;ot  and  Varin,  a  story  which 
could  Ang^lique.have  got  hold  of  it,  would  iiave  stopped 
at  once  her  frightful  plot  to  kill  the  unha])py  Caroline. 

"  I  were  a  fool  to  tell  her  that  story  of  the  groom's,** 
muttered  La  Corriveau  to  herself,  *'  and  spoil  the  fairest 
experiment  of  the  Aqua  To/ana  ever  made,  and  ruin  my 
own  fortune,  too  !  I  know  a  trie  k  worth  two  of  that,"  md 
she  laughed  inwardly  to  herself,  a  laugli  which  was 
repeated  in  Hell  and  made  merry  the  ghosts  of  Beatrice 
Spara,  Exili  and  La  Voisin. 

A  bottle  of  brandy  stood  between  La  Corriveau  and 
Mere  Malheur,  which  gave  zest  to  their  repast,  and  they 
sat  long  exchanging  vile  thoughts  in  viler  language,  min- 
gled with  ridicule,  detraction  and  scandal  of  ^11  their 
dupes  and  betters,    v?  'j  '' V 

.)jAll  next  day  La  Corriveau  kept  closely  to  the  house, 
but  she  found  means  to  communicate  to  Ang^lique,  her 
intention  to  visit  Beaumanoir  that  night. 

The  news  was  grateful,  yet  strangely  moving  to  Angrfl- 
ique  ;  she  trembled  and  turned  pale,  not  for  ru  i*  but  for 
doubt  and  dread  of  possible  failure  or  discover}*. 

She  sent  by  an  unknown  hand  to  the  house  of  Mfere 
Malheur,  a  little  basket  containing  a  bouquet  of  roses  so 
beautiful  and  fragrant  that  they  might  have  been  plucked 
in  the  garden  of  Eden. 

Ang^lique  loved  flowers,  but  her  hands  shook  with  a 
palsy  of  apprehension  and  an  innate  feeling  of  repugnance 
as  she  reflected  on  the  purpose  for  which  her  beautiful 
roses  were  given.  She  only  recovered  her  composure 
after  throwing  herself  on  a  sofa  and  plunging  headlong 
into  the  day  dreams  which  now  made  up  the  sum  of  her 
existence. 

La  Corriveau  carried  the  basket  into  an  inner  chamber, 
a  small  room,  the  window  of  which  never  saw  the  sun,  but 
opened  against  the  close  overhanging  rock,  which  was  so 
near  that  it  might  be  touched  with  the  hand.  The  dark 
damp  wall  of  the  cliff  shed  a  gloomy  obscurity  in  the  room 
even  at  midday. 

The  small  black  eyes  of  La  Corriveau  glittered  like 
poniards  as  she  opened  the  basket,  and  taking  out  the 
bouquet  found  attached  to  it  by  a  ribbon,  a  silken  purse, 
containing  a  number  of  glittering  pieces  of  gold.  She 
pressed  the  coins  to  her  cheek,  and  even  put  them  betwcec 


] 


474 


THE  cffiEAT  lyoa. 


I 


ifi 


her  lips,  to  taste  their  sweetness,  for  money  she  loved 
beyond  all  things.  The  passion  of  her  soul  was  avarice  ; 
her  wickedness  took  its  direction  from  the  love  of  money, 
and  scrupled  at  no  iniquity  for  the  sake  of  it. 

She  placed  the  purse  carefully  in  her  bosom,  and  took 
up  the  roses,  regarding  them  with  a  strange  look  of  admi> 
ration,  as  she  muttered  :  "They  are  beautiful,  and  they  are 
sweet !  men  would  call  them  innocent !  they  are  like  her 
who  sent  them,  fair  without  as  yet ;  like  her  who  is  to 
receive  them,  fair  within."  She  stood  reflecting  for  a  few 
moments  and  exclaimed  as  she  laid  the  bouquet  upon  the 
table : 

"  Ang^lique  des  Meloises,  you  send  your  gold  and 
your  roses  to  me  because  you  believe  me  to  be  a  worse 
demon  than  yourself,  but  you  are  worthy  to  be  crowned 
to-night  with  there  roses  as  Queen  of  Hell,  and  mistress 
of  all  the  witches  that  ever  met  in  Grand  Sabbat,  at  the 
palace  of  Galienne,  where  Satan  sits  on  a  throne  of 
gold  1 " 

La  Corriveau  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  cor- 
ner of  the  rock  lit  up  with  the  last  ray  of  the  setting  sun. 
She  knew  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  her  journey.  She 
loosened  her  long  black  and  grey  elfin  locks,  and  let  them 
fall  dishevelled  over  her  shoulders.  Her  thin  cruel  lips 
were  drawn  to  a  rigid  line,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with 
red  fire,  as  she  drew  the  casket  of  ebony  out  of  her  bosom 
and  opened  it  with  a  reverential  touch,  as  a  devotee  would 
touch  a  shrine  of  relics.  She  tool^out  of  it  a  small  gilded 
vial  of  antique  shape,  containing  a  clear  bright  liquid, 
which,  as  she  shook  it  up,  seemed  filled  with  a  million 
sparks  of  fire. 

Before  drawing  the  glass  stopper  of  the  vial.  La  Cor- 
riveau folded  a  handkerchief  carefully  over  her  mouth  and 
nostrils,  to  avoid  inhaling  the  volatile  essence  of  its 
poisonous  contents.  Then,  holding  the  bouquet  with  one 
hand  at  arms  length,  she  sprinkled  the  glowing  roses  with 
the  transparent  liquid  from  the  vial  which  she  held  in  the 
othei  hand,  repeating,  in  a  low  harsh  tone,  the  fonnula  of 
an  ancient  incantation,  which  was  one  of  the  secrets 
imparted  to  Antonio  Exili  by  the  terrible  Beatrice  Spara. 

La  Corriveau  repeated  by  rote,  as  she  had  learned  from 
her  mother,  the  ill-omened  words,  hardly  knowing  their 
meaning,  beyond  that  they  were  something  very  potent,  and 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEN:  " NEVERMORE l"^ 


loved 
arice ; 
noney, 

i  took 
admi- 
tiey  are 
ke  her 
)  is  to 
•  a  few 
»on  the 

►Id  and 
I  worse 
rowned 
[tiistress 
,  at  the 
rone  of 

w  a  cor- 
ing sun. 
ay.    She 
let  them 
ruel  lips 
led  with 
;r  bosom 
je  would 
,11  gilded 
,t  liquid, 
L  million 

La  Cor- 
DUth  and 
ce  of  its 
with  one 
>ses  with 
d  in  the 
nnula  of 
e  sectets 
e  Spara. 
med  f  roiii 
iring  their 
otent,  arid 


475 


very  wicked,  which  had  been  handed  down  through 
generations  of  poisoners  and  witches  from  the  times  of 
heathen  Rome:         'r*i 


■;T»5»; 


'?  "  Hecaten  Voco !       ■  '  ^ 

Voco  Tisiphonem  I 

Spargens  avernales  aquas, 
Te  morti  devoveo,  Te  diris  ago  I 


jf'! 


v^^ 


The  terrible  drops  of  the  Aqua  To/ana  glittered  like 
dew  on  the  glowing  flowers,  taking  away  in  a  moment  all 
their  fragrance,  while  leaving  all  their  beauty  unimpaired. 
The  poison  sank  into  the*  very  hearts  of  the  roses  whence 
it  breathed  death  from  every  petal  and  every  leaf,  leaving 
them  fair  as  she  who  had  sent  them,  but  fatal  to  the 
approach  of  lip  or  nostril,  fit  emblems  of  her  unpitying 
hate  and  remorseless  jealousy.  .      ?    -v»-  , 

La  Corriveau  wrapped  the  bouquet  in  a  medicated 
p?j)er  of  silver  tissue,  which  prevented  the  escape  of  the 
volatile  death,  and  replacing  the  roses  carefully  in  the 
basket,  prepared  for  her  departure  to  Beaumanoir. 


:    u'[   CHAPTER  XLIV. 

QUOTH  THE  RAVEN  :  "  NEVERMORE  !  " 


It  was  the  eve  of  St.  Michael.  A  quiet  autumnal  night 
brooded  over  the  forest  of  Beaumanoir.  The  moon  in 
her  wane  had  risen  late  and  struggled  feebly  among  the 
broken  clouds  that  were  gathering  slowly  in  the  east,  indica- 
tive of  a  storm.  She  shed  a  dim  light  through  the  glades 
and  thickets  just  enough  to  discover  a  path  where  the 
dark  figure  of  a  woman  made  her  way  swiftly  and  cautious- 
ly towards  the  Chateau  of  the  Intendant. 

She  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary  costume  of  a  peasant 
woman  and  carried  a  small  basket  on  her  arm,  which,  had 
she  opened  it,  would  have  been  found  to  contain  a  candle 
and  a  bouquet  of  fresh  roses,  carefully  covered  with  a  pa- 
per of  silver  tissue,  nothing  more — an  honest  peasant 
woman  would  have  had  a  rosary  in  her  basket,  but  this  was 
no  honest  peasant  woman  and  she  had  none.         -- 


476  .  ^A  .     THE  ciriEN D'OR.  .    v....,,:^ 

Tlie  forest  waft  very  still,  it  was  steeped  in  quietness. 
The  rustling  of  the  dry  leaves  under  the  feet  of  the  woman 
was  all  she  heard  except  when  the  low  sighing  of  the  wind, 
the  sharp  bark  of  a  fox,  or  the  shriek  of  an  owl  broke  the 
silence  for  a  moment,  and  all  was  again  still. 

The  woman  looked  watchfully  round  as  she  glided  on- 
wards. The  path  was  known  to  her,  but  not  so  familial ly 
as  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  stopping  every  few  minute-j 
to  look  about  her  and  make  sure  she  w  as  right. 

1'  was  long  since  she  had  travelled  that  way,  and  she 
was  looking  for  a  land-mark,  a  grey  stone  that  stood  some* 
where  not  far  from  where  she  was,  and  near  which  she 
knew  that  there  was  a  footpath  that  led  not  directly  to  the 
Chateau  but  to  the  old  deserted  watchtower  of  Beaumanoir. 
.  That  stone  marked  a  spot  ngt  to  be  forgotten  by  her, 
for  it  was  the  memorial  of  a  deed  of  wickedness  now  only 
remembered  by  herself  and  by  God.  La  Corriveau  cared 
nothing  for  the  recollection.  It  Was  not  terrible  to  her, 
and  God  made  no  sign  ;  but  in  his  great  book  of  account, 
of  which  the  life  of  every  man  and  woman  forms  a  page, 
it  was  written  down  and  remembered. 

On  the  secret  tablets  of  our  memory  which  is  the  book 
of  our  life,  every  thought,  word  and  deed,  good  or  evil,  is 
written  down,  indelibly  and  for  ever  !  and  the  invisible  pen 
goes  on  writing  day  after  day,  hour  after  hour,  minute  after 
minute,  every  thought  even  the  idlest,  every  fancy  the  most 
evanescent,  nothing  is  left  out  of  our  book  of  life  which 
will  be  our  record  in  judgment !  When  that  book  is  opened 
and  no  secrets  are  hid,  what  son  or  daughter  of  Adam  is 
there  who  will  not  need  to  say  ?  "  God  be  merciful  I  " 

La  Corriveau  came  suddenly  upon  the  grey  stone.  It 
startled  her,  for  its  rude  contour  standing  up  in  the  pale 
moonlight,  put  on  the  appearance  of  a  woman.  She 
thought  she  was  discovered,  and  she  heard  a  noise;  but 
another  glance  reassured  her.  She  recognized  the  stone, 
and  the  noise  she  had  heard  was  only  the  scurringof  ahare 
among  the  dry  leaves. 

The  habiians  held  this  spot  to  be  haunted  by  the  wail 
ing  spirit  of  a  woman  in  a  grey  robe,  who  had  been  poison 
ed  by  a  jealous  lover.     La  Corriveau  gave  him  sweetmeats 
of  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas  which  the  woman  ate  from 
his  hand  and  fell  dead  at  his  feet  in  this  trysting  place 
where  they  met  for  the  last  time.    The  man  fled  to  the 


Ql/CTJ/  THE  RAVEN:  *  NEVERMORE!'* 


m 


torest,  hunted  by  a  remorseful  consciOnce,  and  died  a  re- 
tributive death.  He  fell  sick  and  was  devoured  by  wolves. 
La  r  -irriveau  alone  of  mortals  held  the  terrible  secret. 

Corriveau  gave  a  low  laugh  as  she  saw  the  palt 
outluie  of  the  woman  resolve  itself  into  the  grey  stone. 
"The  dead  come  not  again  ! "  muttered  she,  "and  if  the| 
do  she  will  soon  have  a  companion  to  share  her  midnight 
walks  round  the  Chateau ! "  La  Corriveau  had  no  con- 
science, she  knew  not  remorse,  and  would  probably  havtt 
felt  no  great  fear  had  that  pale  spirit  really  appeared  a', 
that  moment  to  tax  her  with  wicked  complicity  in  hei 
murder. 

The  clock  of  the  Chateau  struck  twelve.  Its  reverber- 
ations sounded  far  into  the  night,  as  La  Corriveau  emerged 
stealthily  out  of  the  forest,  crouching  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  high  garden  hedges,  until  she  reached  the  old  watch 
tower,  which  stood  like  a  dead  sentinel  at  his  post  on  the 
flank  of  the  Chateau. 

There  was  an  open  doorway,  on  each  side  of  which  lay 
a  heap  of  fallen  stones.  This  was  the  entrance  into  a 
square  room,  dark  and  yawning  as  a  cavern.  It  was  trav* 
ersed  by  one  streak  of  moonshine  which  struggled  through 
a  grated  window  set  in  the  thick  wall. 

La  Corriveau  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  intently 
into  the  gloomy  ruin,  then  casting  a  sharp  glance  behind 
her,  she  entered.  Tired  with  her  long  walk  through  the 
forest,  she  flung  herself  upon  a  stone  seat  to  rest,  and  to 
collect  her  thoughts  for  the  execution  of  her  terrible  mis- 
sion. 

The  dogs  of  the  Chateau  barked  vehemently,  as  if  the 
very  air  bore  some  ominous  taint ;  but  La  Corriveau  knew 
she  was  safe.  They  were  shut  up  in  the  courtyard,  and 
could  not  trace  her  to  the  tower.  A  harsh  voice  or  two, 
and  the  sound  of  whips,  presently  silenced  the  barking 
dogs,  and  all  was  still  again. 

She  had  got  into  the  tower  unseen  and  unheard. 
"  They  say  there  is  an  eye  that  sees  everything,"  muttered 
she,  "  and  an  ear  that  hears  our  very  thoughts.  If  God 
sees  and  hears,  he  does  nothing  1o  prevent  me  from  accom- 
plishing  my  end ;  and  he  will  not  interfere  to-night  I  No, 
not  for  all  the  prayers  she  may  utter,  which  will  not  be 
many  more  !  God — if  there  be  one — lets  La  Corriveau 
live,  and  will  let  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  die  l' 


•  1 

u 


f   -'SJ- 


478  T//£  CHIBN&OHn 

There  was  a  winding  stair  of  stone,  narrow  and  tor 
tuous,  in  one  corner  of  the  tower.  It  led  upwaids  to  the 
roof  and  downwards  to  a  deep  vault  which  was  arched  and 
groined.  Its  heavy  rough  columns  supported  the  tower 
above,  and  divided  the  vaults  beneath.  These  vaults  had 
formerly  served  as  magazines  for  provisions  and  stores  for 
the  use  of  the  occupants  of  the  Chateau,  upon  occasions 
when  they  had  to  retire  for  safety  from  a  sudden  irruption 
of  Iroquois. 

La  Corriveau,  after  a  short  rest,  got  up  with  a  quick, 
impatient  movement.  She  went  over  to  an  arched  door- 
way, upon  which  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  for  several  min- 
utes.    "  The  way  is  down  there,"  she  muttered,  "  now  for 

alightl"  ..;    ......J':.:.  •   ....   .,.:..    .  ..    ,^-...;..,, 

She  found  the  entrance  to  the  stair  open  ;  she  passed 
in,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  so  that  the  glimmer  might 
not  be  seen  by  any  chance  stroller,  and  struck  a  light. 
The  reputation  which  the  tower  had  of  being  haunted, 
made  the  servants  very  shy  of  entering  it,  even  in  the  day- 
time ;  and  the  man  was  considered  bold  indeed  who  came 
near  it  after  dark. 

With  her  candle  in  her  hand,  La  Corriveau  descended 
slowly  into  the  gloomy  vault.  It  was  a  large  cavern  of 
stone,  a  very  habitation  of  darkness,  which  seemed  to 
swallow  up  the  feeble  light  she  carried.  It  was  divided 
into  three  portions,  separated  by  rough  columns. 

A  spring  of  water  trickled  in  and  trickled  out  of  a  great 
stone  trough,  ever  full  and  overflowing  with  a  soft  tinkling 
sound,  like  a  clepsydra  measuring  the  movements  of  eter- 
nity. The  cool,  fresh,  living  water,  diffused  throughout 
the  vaults  an  even,  mild  temperature  the  year  round.  The 
gardeners  of  the  Chiteau  took  advantage  of  this,  and  used 
the  vault  as  a  favorite  store-room  for  their  crops  of  fruit 
and  vegetables  for  winter  use  in  the  chateau. 

La  Corriveau  went  resolutely  forward  as  one  who  knew 
what  she  sought  and  where  to  find  it,  and  presently  stood 
in  front  of  a  recess  containing  a  wooden  panel  similar  to 
that  in  the  Chateau,  and  movable  in  the  same  manner.  She 
considered  it  for  some  moments,  muttering  to  herself  a^ 
she  held  aloft  the  candle  to  inspect  it  closely  and  find  the 
spring  by  which  i:  was  moved. 

La  Corriveau  had  been  carefully  instructed  by  M^re 
Malheur  in  every  point  regarding  the  mechanism  of  this 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEN  I  ''NEVERMORE  I"*'        4^^ 

door.  She  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  secret  of  its 
working.  A  slight  touch  sufficed  when  the  right  place  was 
known.  She  pressed  it  hard  with  her  hand,  the  panel 
swung  open  and  behind  it  gaped  a  dark  narrow  passage 
leading  to  the  secret  chamber  of  Caroline. 

She  entered  without  hesitation,  knowing  whither  it  led. 
It  was  damp  and  stifling.  Her  candle  burned  dimmer 
and  dimmer  in  the  impure  air  of  the  long  shut-up  passage. 
There  were,  however,  no  other  obstacles  in  her  way.  The 
passage  was  unincumbered  ;  but  the  low  arch,  scarcely 
over  her  own  height,  seemed  to  press  down  upon  her  as 
she  passed  along,  as  if  to  prevent  her  progress.  The  fear- 
less, wicked  heart  bore  her  up ;  nothing  worse  than  herself 
could  meet  her ;  and  she  felt  neither  fear  at  what  lay  before 
her,  nor  remorse  at  what  was  behind. 

The  distance  to  be  traversed  was  not  far,  although  it 
seemed  to  her  impatience  to  be  interminable.  Mfere  Mal- 
heur, with  her  light  heels,  could  once  run  through  it  in  a 
minute,  to  a  tryst  in  the  old  tower.  La  Corriveau  was 
thrice  that  time  in  groping  her  way  along  it  before  she 
came  to  a  heavy  iron-ribbed  door,  set  in  a  deep  arch,  which 
marked  the  encl  of  the  passage. 

That  black,  forbidding  door  was  the  dividing  of  light 
from  darkness,  of  good  from  evil,  of  innocence  from  guilt. 
On  one  side  of  it,  in  a  chamber  of  light,  sat  a  fair  girl,  con- 
fiding, generous  and  deceived  only  through  her  excess  of 
every  virtue ;  on  the  other,  wickedness,  fell  and  artful,  was 
approaching  with  stealthy  footsteps  through  an  unseen 
way,  and  stood  with  hand  upraised  to  knock,  but  incapable 
of  entering  in,  unless  that  unsuspecting  girl  removed  the 
bar. 

Oh  I  Caroline  de  St.  Castin !  martyr  to  womanly  love, 
and  the  victim  of  womanly  hate,  amid  all  the  tossing 
thoughts  that  agitate  your  innocent  breast,  is  there  not  one 
to  suggest  a  fear  or  a  suspicion  of  fear  of  the  strange  woman 
who  comes  in  such  mysterious  fashion  to  the  door  of  your 
last  place  of  refuge  except  the  grave  ? 

Alas  I  no  1  Caroline  sat  waiting,  counting  the  minutes 
one  by  one  as  the  finger  passed  over  the  dial  of  the  clock  ; 
impatient,  yet  trembling,  she  knew  not  why,  to  hear  the 
expected  knock  upon  the  fatal  door. 

She  had  no  suspicion  of  evil.  Her  guardian  angel  had 
turned  aside  to  weep.     Pro^  idence   itself  for  the  nonce 


,  ■  'f. 


4^0 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OH.      \\  j  v>S>  ^ 


II 


seemed — but  only  seemed-  -to  have  withdrawn  its  care.  It 
may  be  the  sooner  to  beur  this  lost  lamb  into  its  fold  of 
rest  and  peace,  but  not  the  less  did  it  seem  for  ends  in- 
scrutable, to  have  delivered  her  over  to  the  craft  and  cruelty 
of  her  bitter  enemy. 

As  the  hour  of  midnight  approached,  one  sound  after 
Another  died  away  in  the  Chftteau.     Caroline,  who  had  sat 
counting  the  hours  and  watching  the  spectral  moon,  as  i 
flickered  among  the  drifting  clouds,  withdrew  from  the  win 
dow,  with  a  trembling  step,  lilce  one  going  to  her  doom. 

She  descended  to  the  secret  chamber,  where  she  had 
appointed  to  meet  her  strange  visitor  and  hear  from  strange 
lips  the  story  that  would  be  told  her. 

She  attired  herself  with  care,  as  a  woman  will  in  every 
extremity  of  life.  Her  dark  raven  hair  was  simply  arranged, 
and  fell  in  thick  masses  over  her  neck  and  shoulders.  She 
put  on  a  robe  of  soft  snow  white  texture,  and  by  an  impulse 
she  yielded  to,  but  could  not  explain,  bound  her  waist  with 
a  black  sash,  like  a  strain  of  mourning  in  a  song  of  inno- 
cence. She  wore  no  ornaments  save  a  ring,  the  love  gift 
of  Bigot,  which  she  never  parted  with,  but  wore  with  a 
morbid  anticipation  that  its  promises  would  one  day  be  ful- 
filled. She  clung  to  it  as  a  talisman  that  would  yet  conjure 
away  her  sorrows,  and  it  did !  but,  alas !  in  a  way  little 
anticipated  by  the  constant  girl  I  A  blast  from  hell  was  at 
hand  to  sweep  away  her  young  life,  and  with  it,  all  her 
earthly  troubles. 

She  took  up  a  guitar,  mechanically  as  it  were,  and  as 
her  fingers  wandered  over  the  strings,  a  bar  or  two  of  the 
strain,  sad  as  the  sigh  of  a  broken  heart,  suggested  an  old 
ditty  she  had  loved  formerly,  when  her  heart  was  full  of 
sunshine  and  happiness,  when  her  fancy  used  to  indulge 
in  the  luxury  of  melancholic  musings,  as  every  happy,  sen- 
sitive and  imaginative  girl  will  do,  as  a  counterpoise  to  her 
high-wrought  feelings. 

In  a  low  voice,  sweet  and  plaintive  as  the  breathings  of 


Ifj: 


ill  i£olian  harp,  Caroline  sang  her  Minne-song : — 


,hrai  '■■ 


*■  A  linnet  sat  upon  a  thorn  ,  ^ 

At  evening  chime> 
Its  sweet  refrain  feU  'ike  the  rain 

Of  summer  time. 
Of  summer  time  when  roses  bloomed, 

And  bright  above 


.  / 


-  -.]•< 


'V 


QUOTH  THE  RA  VEN:  "  NE  VERMORE I "         4S1 


A  rainbow  spanned  my  fairy  land 

Of  hope  and  love ! 
Of  hope  and  love,  O,  Linnet  I  cease 

Thy  mocking  theme  I 
I  ne'er  picked  up  the  golden  cup, 

In  all  my  dream  !  .  >  • 

In  all  my  arcam  I  missed  the  prize       ,.     | .     ,..,  ;    ;, 
'   <'         .      Should  have  been  mine ;  ' 

And  dreams  wont  die  t  though  fain  would  I, 
.  And  make  no  sign  I  " 

The  lamps  burned  brightly,  shedding  a  cheerful  light 
upon  the  landscapes  and  figures  woven  into  the  tapestry, 
behind  which  was  concealed  the  back  door  that  was  to 
admit  La  Corriveau. 

It  was  oppressively  still.  Caroline  listened  with  mouth 
and  ears  for  some  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  until  her 
heart  beat  like  the  swift  stroke  of  a  hammer,  as  it  sent  the 
blood  throbbing  through  her  temples  with  a  rush  that 
almost  overpowered  her.  ,     ,  :   .  r :     .>;.: ' hv14*^ 

She  was  alone,  and  lonely  beyond  expression.  Down 
in  these  thick  foundations  no  sound  penetrated,  to  break 
the  terrible  monotony  of  the  silence  around  her,  except  the 
dull  solemn  voice  of  the  bell  striking  the  hour  of  midnight 

Caroline  had  passed  a  sleepless  night  after  the  visit  of 
Mere  Malheur  ;  sometimes  tossing  on  her  solitary  couch  ; 
sometimes  starting  up  in  terror.  She  rose  and  threw  her- 
self despairingly  upon  her  knees,  calling  on  Christ  to  par- 
don her,  and  on  the  Mother  of  Mercies  to  plead  for  her, 
sinner  that  she  was,  whose  hour  of  shame  and  punishment 
had  come  !  ^ 

The  mysterious  letter  brought  by  Mere  Malheur,  an- 
nouncing that  her  place  of  concealment  was  to  be  searched 
by  the  Governor,  excited  her  liveliest  apprehensions.  But 
that  faded  into  nothingness  in  comparison  with  the  abso- 
lute terror  that  seized  her  at  the  thoughts  of  the  speedy 
arrival  of  her  father  in  the  colony.  ^ 

Caroline,  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  con- 
trition, pictured  to  herself,  in  darkest  colors,  the  anger  of 
her  father  at  the  dishonor  she  had  brought  upon  his  unsul- 
lied name. 

She  sat  down,  she  rose  up,  she  walked  her  solitary 
chamber,  and  knelt  passionately  on  the  floor,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  crying  to  the  Madonna  for  pity  and 
protection.  Vf 

31 


F-*f 


4*« 


THE  ClIIEN  If  OR. 


\m 


i\y^^ 


Poor  self-accuser !  The  hardest  and  most  mcrcilesA 
wretch  who  ever  threw  stones  at  a  woman,  was  pitiful  in 
comparison  with  Caroline's  inexorable  condemnation  of 
herself. 

Yet  her  fear  was  not  on  her  own  account.  She  cc  uld 
have  kissed  her  father's  hand  and  submitted  humbly  to 
death  itself,  if  he  chose  to  inflict  it ;  but  she  trembled  most 
at  the  thought  of  a  meeting  between  the  fiery  Baron  and 
the  haughty  Intendant.  One  or  the  other,  or  both  of  them, 
she  felt  instinctively,  must  die,  should  the  Baron  discover 
that  Bigot  had  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin  of  his  idolized 
child.         f'  1^  ^'' 

She  trembled  for  both,  and  prayed  God  that  she  might 
die  in  their  stead,  and  the  secret  of  her  shame  never  be 
known  to  her  fond  father. 

A  dull  sound,  like  footsteps  shuffling  in  the  dark  pas 
sage  behind  the  arras,  struck  her  ear;  she  knew  her 
strange  visitant  was  come.  She  started  up,  clasping  her 
hands  hard  together  as  she  listened,  wondering  who  and 
what  like  she  might  be  ?  She  suspected  no  harm,  for  who 
could  desire  to  harm  her  who  had  never  injured  a  living 
being  ?  Yet  there  she  stood  on  the  one  side  of  that  black 
door  of  doom,  while  the  calamity  of  her  life  stood  on  tht 
other  side  like  a  tigress  ready  to  spring  through.  Caroline 
thought  nought  of  this,  but  rather  listened  with  a  sense  of 
relief  to  the  stealthy  footfalls  that  came  slowly  along  the 
hidden  passage.  Perhaps  it  is  well  that  for  the  most  part 
the  catastrophies  and  sorrows  of  life  overtake  us  without 
long  warning.  Life  would  be  intolerable  had  we  to  fore- 
see as  well  as  to  endure  the  pains  of  it ! 

A  low  knock  twice  repeated  on  the  thick  door  behind 
the  arras,  drew  her  at  once  to  her  feet.  She  trembled 
violently  as  she  lifted  up  the  tapestry,  something  rushed 
through  hei  mind  telling  her  not  to  do  it  I  Happy  had  i*^ 
been  for  her  never  to  have  opened  that  fatal  door ! 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the  thought  of  her 
father  and  the  impending  search  of  the  Chateau,  flashed 
suddenly  upon  her  mind.  The  visitant,  whoever  she  might 
be,  professed  to  be  a  friend,  and  could,  she  thought,  have 
no  motive  to  harm  her. 

Caroline,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  pushed  aside  the 
faistening  of  the  door,  and  uttering  the  words  Dieu  ! protegi 
mot !  stood  face  to  face  with  La  Corriveau. 


QUOTH  THE  RA  VK^i  "  NEVERMORE / *        483 


The  bright  lamp  shone  full  on  the  tall  figure  of  the 
strange  visitor,  and  Caroline,  whose  fears  had  anticipated 
some  uncouth  sight  of  terror,  was  surprised  to  see  only  a 
woman  dressed  in  the  simple  garb  or  a  peasant,  with  a 
little  basket  on  her  arm,  enter  quietly  through  the  secret 
door. 

^^'  The  eyes  of  La  Corriveau  glared  for  a  moment  with 
fiendish  curiosity  upon  the  young  girl  who  stood  before 
her  like  one  of  God's  angels.  She  measured  her  from  head 
to  foot,  noted  every  fold  of  her  white  robe,  every  flexure  of 
her  graceful  form,  and  drank  in  the  whole  beauty  and 
innocence  of  her  aspect  with  a  feeling  of  innate  spite,  at 
ought  so  fair  and  good.  On  her  thin  cruel  lips  there  played 
a  smile  as  the  secret  thought  hovered  over  them  in  an 
unspoken  whisper,  — "  She  will  make  a  pretty  corpse  1 
Brinvilliers  and  La  Voisin  never  mingled  dnnk  lot  a  fairer 
victim  than  I  will  crown  with  roses  to-night  I  " 

Caroline  retreated  a  few  steps,  frightened  and  trembling, 
as  she  encountered  the  glittermg  eyes  and  sinister  smile 
of  La  Corriveau.  The  woman  observed  it,  and  instantly 
changed  her  mien,  to  one  more  natural  and  sympathetic ; 
for  she  comprehended  fully  the  need  of  disarming  suspicion 
and  of  winning  the  confidence  of  her  victim  to  enable  her 
more  surely  to  destroy  her. 

Caroline,  reassured  by  a  second  glance  at  her  visitor, 
thought  she  had  been  mistaken  in  her  first  impression. 
The  peasant's  dress,  the  harmless  basket,  the  quiet  man- 
ner assumed  by  La  Corriveau  as  jhe  stood  in  a  respectful 
attitude,  as  if  waiting  to  be  spoken  to,  banished  all  fears 
from  the  mind  of  Caroline,  and  left  her  only  curious  to 
know  the  issue  of  this  mysterious  visit. 

What  La  Corriveau  had  planned  was  not  a  deed  ol 
violence,  although  she  had  brought  with  her  an  Italian 
stiletto  of  sharpest  steel,  the  same  which  Beatrice  Spara 
had  left  sticking  in  the  heart  of  Beppa  Farinata  whoif 
she  found  in  the  chamber  of  Antonio  Exili.  But  it  was 
only  at  the  last  extremity  La  Corriveau  meant  to  resort 
to  its  use.  She  had  brought  it  more  to  protect  her  own 
life  if  in  danger,  than  to  take  that  of  her  victim. 

She  had  resolved  on  a  quieter  and  surer  plan  to  kill 
the  innocent,  unsuspecting  girl.  She  would  visit  her  as  a 
friend,  a  harmless  peasant  woman,  moved  only  for  her  safety. 
She  would  catch  her  attention  in  a  net-work  of  lies,  she 


-I 


;'  I 


4S4 


2//£  C///£A^  Don. 


would  win  her  confidence  by  affected  sympathy,  cheer  hei 
with  bright  hopes,  and  leave  her  dead  with  the  bouquet  of 
roses  like  a  bridal  gift  in  her  hand.  No  one  should  know 
whence  came  the  unseen  stroke.  No  one  should  suspect 
it,  and  the  Intendant  whp  would  not  dare  in  any  event  to 
promulgate  a  syllable  of  her  death,  nay,  he  should  himself 
believe,  that  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  had  died  by  the  visi- 
tation of  God.  ,.,.?>  iVi'  vjV. 
It  was  an  artful  scheme,  wickedly  conceived  and  mer- 
cilessly carried  out,  with  a  burst  of  more  than  its  intended 
atrocity.  La  Corriveau  erred  in  one  point.  She  did  not 
know  the  intensity  of  the  fires  that  raged  in  her  own  evil 

bosom.  (.»   ,>:•)■  f-..-V-..  .M.i.  ..,.  [  ,.;'.       -....V     ,     ,     .  .  ..■     ...  ,,,,. 

Providence,  for  some  inscrutable  end,  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  have  withdrawn  its  care  from  the  secret  cham- 
ber of  Beaumanoir,  and  left  this  hapless  girl  to  die  by 
blackest  treachery  unseen  and  unknown,  but  not  forgotten 
by  those  who  loved  her  and  who  would  have  given  their 
lives  for  her  safety.       .    '..,,,.;!     ,  .,  i      :      v_    ,  , 


■  t      V  if 


'■  :    \   ':■ 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME.    . 


I. '). 


./■I    V 


1:  •  -^  \ 


Caroline,  profoundly  agitated,  rested  her  hands  on  the 
bacK  of  a  chair  for  support,  and  regarded  La  Corriveau 
for  some  moments  without  speaking.  She  tried  to  frame  a 
question  of  some  introductory  kind,  but  could  not.  But 
the  pent-up  feelings  came  out  at  last  in  a  gush  straight 
from  the  heart. 

"  Did  you  write  this  ? "  said  she,  falteringly,  to  La  Cor- 
riveau, and  holding  out  the  letter  so  mysteriously  placed  in 
her  hand  by  Mfere  Malheur.     "  O,  tell  me,  is  it  true?  " 

La  Corriveau  did  not  reply  except  by  a  sign  of  assent, 
and  standing  upright  waited  for  further  question.  >^ 

Caroline  looked  at  her  again,  wonderingly.  That  a 
simple  peasant  woman  could  have  indited  such  a  letter,  or 
could  have  known  ojght  respecting  her  father,  seemed 
incredible. 


A  DEED   WITHOUT  A  NAME 


48s 


their 


r:    « 


**  In  heaven's  name  tell  me  who  and  what  yuu  are  1 " 
exclaimed  she.    "  I  nev  ir  «aw  you  before  I  " 
I      "You  have  seen  m;  before!"  replied  La  CcrriveaUi 
quietly.  *.  ;*  ;- 

Caroline  looked  at  her  amazedly,  but  did  not  recognize 
her.  La  Corrivcau  continued  :  "  Your  father  is  the  Baron 
de  St.  Castin,  and  you,  lady,  would  rather  die  than  endure 
that  he  should  find  you  in  the  Ch&teau  of  Beaumanoir.  Ask 
me  not  how  I  know  these  things,  you  will  not  deny  theif 
truth  ;  as  for  myself,  I  pretend  not  to  be  other  than  I  seem." 

"  Your  dress  is  that  of  a  peasant  woman,  but  your 
language  is  not  the  language  of  one.  You  are  a  lady  "n 
disguise  visiting  me  in  this  strange  fashion  !  "  said  Caroline, 
puzzled  more  than  ever.  Her  thoughts  at  this  instant 
reverted  to  the  Intendant.  "Why  do  you  come  here  in 
this  secret  manner  ? "  asked  she. 

"  I  do  not  appear  other  than  I  am,"  replied  La  Corri- 
veau,  evasively,  "  and  I  come  in  this  secret  manner 
because  I  could  get  access  to  you  in  no  other  way." 

"  You  said  that  I  had  seen  you  before;  I  have  no  knowl- 
edge or  recollection  of  it,"  remarked  Caroline,  looking 
fixedly  at  her.     ;.  j       .sai  >  r  ^    :-        < 

"  Yes  1  you  saw  me  once  in  the  wood  of  St.  Valier. 
Do  you  remember  the  peasant  woman  who  was  gathering 
mandrakes  when  you  passed  with  your  Indian  guides,  and 
who  gave  you  milk  to  refresh  you  on  the  way  ?  " 

This  seemed  like  a  revelation  to  Caroline  ;  she  remem- 
bered the  incident  and  the  woman.  La  Corriveau  had 
carefully  put  on  the  same  dress  she  had  worn  that  day.    1 

"I  do  recollect  1 "  replied  Caroline,  as  a  feeling  of  con-* 
fidence  welled  up  like  a  living  spring  within  her.  She 
offered  La  Corriveau  her  hand.  '*  1  thank  you  gratefully," 
said  she ;  "  you  were  indeed  kind  to  me  that  day  in  the 
forest,  and  I  am  sure  you  must  mean  kindly  by  me  now." 

La  Corriveau  took  the  offered  hand,  but  did  not  press 
it.  She  could  not  for  the  life  of  her,  for  she  had  not  heart 
to  return  the  pressure  of  a  human  hand.  She  saw  her 
advantage,  however,  and  kept  it  through  the  rest  of  the 
brief  interview. 

**  I  mean  you  kindly,  lady  I "  1  ;plied  she,  softening  her 

harsh  voice  as  much  as  she  could  to  a  tone  of  sympathy, 

"  and  I  come  to  help  you  out  of  your  trouble."      m*:^  ,5^^ 

M  For  a  moment  that  cruel  smile  played  on  her  thin  Hpi 


486 


THE  CU/EX  IX  OE. 


f 


i  i 


:i  i 


15 


ji 


again,  but  she  instantly  repressed  ii.  *'  I  am  only  a  pea* 
ant  woman,"  repeated  she  again,  *'  but  I  bring  you  a  littli 
gift  in  my  basket  to  show  my  good  wilt."  She  put  her 
hand  in  her  basket  but  did  not  withdraw  it  at  the  moment, 
as  Caroline,  thinking  little  of  gifts  but  only  of  her  father, 
exclaimed  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  mean  well,  but  you  have  more  import- 
ant things  to  tell  me  of  than  a  gift.  Your  letter  spoke  of 
my  father.  What,  in  God's  name,  have  you  to  tell  me  of  my 
father?  "  »'<  >.  ':?:;■  ^.,  i  X  ^■■-  ,(v  'i*'!  ^51  • 

La  Corriveau  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  basket  and 
replied,  "  He  is  on  his  way  to  New  France  in  search  of 
you.     He  knows  you  are  here,  lady." 

"  In  Beaumanoir?  O,  it  cannot  be  I  No  one  knows  I 
am  isere!"  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
impulse  of  alarm.  '    i    /  .;'....  r  '       .r^  t 

"  Yes,  more  than  you  suppose,  lady,  else  how  d'M  I 
know  ?  Your  father  comes  with  the  king's  letters  to  take 
you  hence  and  return  with  you  to  Acadia  or  to  France." 
La  Corriveau  placed  her  hand  in  her  basket,  but  withdrew 
it  again.     It  was  not  yet  time. 

"God  help  me,  then  I  "  exclaimed  Caroline,  shrinking 
with  terror.  "  But  the  Intendant ;  what  said  you  of  the 
Intendant  ?  " 

"  He  is  ordered  de par  le  Roy  to  give  you  up  to  your 
father,  and  he  will  do  po  if  you  be  not  taken  away  sooner  by 
the  governor."  Caroline  was  nigh  fainting  at  these  words. 
\      '*  Sooner  1  how  sooner.?  "  asked  she,  faintly. 

"  The  Governor  has  received  orders  from  the  king  to 
.search  Beaumanoir  from  roof  to  foundation  stone,  and  he 
.  may  come  to-morrow,  lady,  and  find  you  here." 

The  words  of  La  Corriveau  struck  like  sharp  arrows 
into  the  soul  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"  God  help  me,  then  ! "  exclaimed  she,  clasping  her 
hands  in  agony.  "  O,  that  I  were  deac]  and  buried  where 
only  my  Judge  could  find  me  at  the  last  d:r  ,  for  I  ha^  :  xJd 
hope,  no  claim  upon  man's  mercy!  i.v^  v/oiid  will  stone 
me,  dead  or  living !  and  alas !  I  deserve  my  fate.  It  is  not 
h'urd  to  die,  but  it  is  hard  :>  bear  the  shame  which  will 
net  die  with  me  I  " 

^v. -  cast  her  ryes  despairingly  upward,  as  she  uttered 
this^  and  did  nof;  see  the  bitter  smile  return  to  the  lips  of 
La  CfifJiveau,  w'lo  stood  upright,  cold  and  immovable  be 


A  DBBD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


4«r 


I  arrows 


lore  her,  with  fingers  twitching  nervously,  like  the  claws 
of  a  Fury,  in  her  little  basket,  while  she  whispered  to  her* 
self,  "  Is  it  time,  i"^  it  time  ? "  but  she  took  not  out  the 
bouquet  yet 

Caroline  came  still  nearer  with  a  sudden  changr  of 
thought,  and  clutcl  '^rt,  the  di^s  of  La  Corriveau,  cried  out, 
"O  woman,  ib  this  all  (ru'^?  How  can  you  know  ail  thi» 
to  be  irue  of  me,    nd  you  a  stranger? " 

"  I  know  it  of  a  certainty,  and  f  am  come  to  help  you. 
I  may  not  tell  you  by  wl.om  I  know  it;  perhaps  the  In- 
tendant  himself  has  sent  me,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with 
a  sudden  prompting  of  the  spirit  of  evil  wlio  sto>od  beside 
her.  '*  The  Intendant  will  liide  you  from  t.iis  search,  if 
there  be  a  sure  place  of  concealment  in  New  France." 

The  reply  shot  a  ray  of  hope  across  the  mind  of  the 
agonized  girl.  She  bounded  with  a  sense  of  deliverance. 
It  seemed  so  natural  that  Bigot,  so  deeply  concerned  in 
her  concealment,  should  have  sent  this  peasant  woman  t( 
take  her  away,  that  she  could  not  reflect  ai  the  moment  how 
unlikely  it  was,  nor  could  she,  in  her  excif^Mnent,  read  the 
lie  upon  the  cold  face  of  La  Corriveau. 

She  seized  the  explanation  with  the  gr  isp  of  despair, 
as  a  sailor  seizes  the  one  plank  which  the  waves  have 
washed  within  his  reach,  when  all  else  har  sunk  in  the 
seas  around  him. 

"Bigot  sent  you?"  exclaimed  Caroline  raising  her 
hands,  while  her  pale  face  was  suddenly  suttused  with  a 
flush  of  joy.  "  Bigot  sent  you  to  conduct  me  hence  to  a 
sure  place  of  concealment  ?  O,  blessed  me  senger !  I 
believe  you  now."  Her  excited  imagination  outflew  even 
the  inventions  of  La  Corriveau.  "Bigot  has  h<  ard  of  my 
peril,  and  sent  you  here  at  midnight  to  take  me  away  to 
youf  *orest  home  until  this  search  be  over.  Is  it  not  so  ? 
Francois  Bigot  did  not  forget  me  in  my  danger,  even  while 
he  was  away  1"  n;  / 

"  Yes,  lady,  the  Intendant  sent  me  to  conduct  you  to 
St-  Valier,  to  hide  you  there  in  a  sure  retreat  until  the 
search  be  over,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  calmly  eyeing  her 
from  heaa  to  foot. 

"  It  is  like  him  !  He  is  not  unkind  when  left  to  him- 
self. It  is  so  like  the  Francois  Bigot  I  once  knew!  But 
tell  me,  woman,  what  said  he  further  ?  Did  you  see  him^ 
did  you  hear  him  ?    Tell  me  all  he  said  to  you."       ...-.=- 


4S8 


-rv     THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


|l! 


"■J 


/ 


■i' 


*-  "  I  saw  hiin,  lady,  and  heard  him,"  replied  LaCornveau, 
taking  the  bouquet  in  her  fingers,  "  but  he  said  little  more 
than  I  have  toU  you.  The  Intendant  is  a  stern  man,  and 
gives  few  words,  save  commands,  to  those  of  my  condition. 
But  he  bade  me  convey  to  you  a  token  of  his  love  ;  you 
would  know  its  meaning,  he  said.  I  have  it  safe,  lady,  in 
this  basket — shall  I  give  it  to  you  ? " 

**A  token  of  his  love,  of  Francois  Bigot's  love  to  me  ! 
Are  you  a  woman  and  could  delay  giving  it  so  long?  why 
gave  you  it  not  at  first  ?  I  should  not  have  doubted  you 
then.  O  give  it  to  me,  and  be  blessed  as  the  welcome^t 
messenger  that  ever  came  to  Beaumanoir  !  " 

La  Corriveau  held  her  hand  a  moment  more  in  the 
basket.  Her  dark  features  turned  a  shade  paler,  although 
not  a  nerve  quivered  as  she  plucked  out  a  parcel  carefully 
wrapped  in  silver  tissue ;  she  slipped  off  the  cover,  and 
held  at  arms  length  towards  the  eager,  expectant  girl,  the 
fatal  bouquet  of  roses,  beautiful  to  see  as  the  fairest  that 
ever  filled  the  lap  of  Flora. 

Caroline  clasped  it  with  both  hands,  exclaiming  in  a 
voice  of  exultation,  while  eveiy  feature  radiated  with  joy, 
"  It  is  the  gift  of  God,  and  the  return  of  Francois'  love  ! 
All  will  yet  be  well !  " 

"  She  pressed  the  glowing  flowers  to  her  lips  with  pas- 
sionate kisses,  breathed  once  or  twice  their  mortal  poison, 
and  suddenly  throwing  back  her  head  with  her  dark  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  but  holding  the  fatal  bouquet  fast  in  her 
hands,  fell  stone  dead  at  the  feet  of  La  Corriveau  ! 

A  weird  laugl%  terrible  and  unsuppressed,  rang  round 
the  walls  of  the  secret  chamber,  where  the  lamps  burned 
bright  as  ever,  but  the  glowing  pictures  of  the  tapestry 
never  changed  a  feature.  Was  it  not  strange  that  even 
those  painted  men  should  not  have  cried  out  at  the  sight 
of  so  pitiless  a  murder  ? 

Caroline  lay  amid  them  all,  the  flush  of  joy  still  on  her 
cheek,  the  smile  not  yet  vanished  from  her  lips.  A  pity 
for  all  the  world,  could  it  have  seen  her;  but  in  that  lonely 
chamber  no  eye  pitied  her. 

But  now  a  more  cruel  thing  supervened.  The  sight  of 
Caroline's  lifeless  form  instead  of  pity  or  remorse,  roused 
all  the  innate  furies  that  belonged  to  the  execrable  race  of 
La  Corriveau.  The  blood  of  generations  of  poisoners  and 
assassins  boiled  and  rioted  in  her  veins.     The  spirits  of 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  .VAME,  48^ 

Beatrice  Spara  and  of  La  Voisin  inspired  her  with  new 
fury.  She  was  at  this  moment  like  a  pantheress  that  has 
brought  down  her  prey  and  stands  over  it  to  rend  it  in 
pieces. 

Caroline  lay  dead,  dead  beyond  all  doubt,  never  to  be 
resuscitated,  except  in  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  La  Cor- 
riveau  bent  over  her  and  felt  her  heart ;  it  was  still.  No 
sign  of  breath  flickered  on  lip  or  nostril. 

The  poisoner  knew  she  was  dead,  but  something  still 
woke  her  suspicions  as  with  a  new  thought  she  drew  back 
and  looked  again  at  the  beauteous  form  before  her.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  she  plucked 
the  sharp  Italian  stiletto  from  her  bosom  and  with  a  firm, 
heavy  hand,  plunged  it  twice  into  the  body  of  the  lifeless 
girl.  "  If  there  be  life  there,"  she  said,  "  it  too  shall  die  1 
La  Corriveau  leaves  no  work  of  hers  half  done  I  " 

A  faint  trickle  of  blood  in  red  threads,  ran  down  the 
snow  white  vestment,  and  that  was  all !  The  heart  had 
forever  ceased  to  beat,  and  tne  blood  to  circulate.  The 
golden  bowl  was  broken,  and  the  silver  cord  of  life  loosed 
forever,  and  yet  this  last  indignity  would  have  recalled 
the  soul  of  Caroline,  could  she  have  been  conscious  of  it. 
But  all  was  well  with  her  now !  not  in  the  sense  of  the 
last  joyous  syllables  she  spoke  in  life,  but  in  a  higher, 
holier  sense,  as  when  God  interprets  our  words  and  not 
men,  all  was  well  with  her  now  ! 

She  had  got  peace  now,  she  slept  'n  her  beauty  and 
innocence  as  one  waiting  in  a  happy  dream  to  be  carried 
off  by  a  flight  of  angelic  messengers,  to  that  only  heaven 
of  rest,  which  had  lately  been  so  often  revealed  to  her  in 
dreams  and  visions  at  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

The  passage  of  the  dark  water  had  been  short,  perhaps 
bitter,  perhaps  sweet,  God  only  knows  how  sweet  or  how 
bitter  that  passage  is  !  We  only  know  that  it  is  dark  and 
looks  bitter,  but  whether  sweet  or  bitter,  the  black  river 
must  be  'traversed  alone,  alone  by  every  one  of  us !  A 
dark  journey  away  from  the  bright  sun  and  the  abodes  of 
living  men  !  Happy  is  he  who  can  take  with  him  the  staff 
of  fai^h  to  support  him  in  ;he  solitary  ford  where  no  help 
is  more  from  man !  Happy  she  who  can  carry  love  in 
death  and  meet  death  in  love,  for  her  love  goes  with  her 
like  a  lamp  shining  on  the  way  of  the  faithful  spirit  which 
returns  to  God. 


»  «.  J"  IE 


490 


^*  ^. ;'  ^, 


7y/A'  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


The  gaunt,  iron  visaged  woman  knelt,  down  upon  hei 
knees,  gazing  with  inshrinking  eyes  upon  the  face  of  hef 
victim,  as  if  curiouly  marking  the  effect  of  a  successful  ex* 
periment  of  the  Aqua  To/ana. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  dared  to  administer 
that  subtle  poison  in  the  fashion  of  La  Borgia. 

"  The  Agua  To/ana  does  its  work  like  a  charm  1  '  mut- 
tered she.  "  That  vial  was  compounded  by  Beatrice  Spara, 
and  is  worthy  of  her  skill  and  more  sure  than  her  stiletto  I 
I  was  frantic  to  use  that  weapon,  for  no  purpose  than  to 
redden  my  hands  with  the  work  of  a  low  bravo ! " 

A  few  drops  of  blood  were  on  the  hand  of  La  Cor- 
riveau.  She  wiped  them  impatiently  upon  the  garment 
of  Caroline,  where  it  left  the  impress  of  her  fingers  upon  the 
snowy  muslin.  No  pity  for  her  pallid  victim,  who  lay  with 
open  eyes  looking  dumbly  upon  her,  no  remorse  for  her 
act  touched  the  stony  heart  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  clock  of  the  chateau  struck  one.  The  solitary 
stroke  of  the  bell  reverberated  like  an  accusing  voice 
through  the  house,  but  failed  to  awake  one  sleeper  to  a 
discovery  of  the  black  tragedy  that  had  just  taken  place 
under  its  roof. 

That  sound  had  often  struck  sadly  upon  the  ear  of 
Caroline,  as  she  prolonged  her  vigil  of  prayer  through  the 
still  watches  of  the  night.  Her  ear  was  dull  enough  now 
to  all  earthly  sound !  But  the  toll  of  the  bell  reached 
the  ear  of  La  Corriveau,  rousing  her  to  the  need  of  im- 
mediately effecting  her  escape,  now  that  her  task  was 
done. 

She  sprang  up  and  looked  narrowly  round  the  chamber. 
She  marked  with  envious  malignity  the  luxury  and  magnifi- 
cence of  its  adornments.  Upon  a  chair  lay  her  own  lette  r 
sent  to  Caroline  by  the  hands  of  Mfere  Malheur.  La  Corri- 
veau snatched  it  up.  It  was  what  she  sought.  She  tore  it  in 
pieces  and  threw  the  fragments  from  her;  but  with  a  sudden 
thought,  as  if  not  daring  to  leave  even  the  fragments  upon 
the  floor,  she  gathered  them  up  hastily  and  put  them  in  her 
baske*  with  the  bouquet  of  roses  which  she  wrested  from 
the  dead  fingers  of  Caroline,  in  order  to  carry  it  away  and 
scatter  the  fatal  flowers  in  the  forest. 

She  pulled  open  the  drawers  of  the  escritoire  to  search 
for  money,  but  finding  none,  was  too  wary  to  carry  ofl 
ought  else.    The  temptation  lay  sore  upon  her  to  carry 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


49* 


Away  the  ring  from  the  finger  of  Caroline.  She  drew  it  ofl 
the  pale  wasted  finger,  but  a  cautious  consideration  re- 
strained  her.   She  put  it  on  again,  and  would  not  take  it. 

"  It  would  only  lead  to  discovery  1 "  muttered  she.  "  I 
must  take  nothing  but  myself,  and  what  belongs  tc  me 
away  from  Beaumanoir,  and  the  sooner  the  better  1 " 

La  Corriveau  with  her  basket  again  upon  her  arm,  turn- 
ed to  give  one  last  look  of  fiendish  satisfaction  at  the 
corpse  which  lay  like  a  dead  angel  slain  in  God's  battle. 
The  bright  lamps  were  glaring  full  upon  her  still  beautiful 
but  sightless  eyes,  which  wide  open  looked,  even  in  death, 
reproachfully,  yet  forgivingly,  upon  their  murderess. 

Something  startled  La  Corriveau  in  that  look.  She 
turned  hastily  away,  and  relighting  her  candle  passed 
through  the  dark  archway  of  the  secret  door,  forgetting  to 
close  it  after  her,  and  retraced  her  steps  along  the  stone 
passage  until  she  came  to  the  watch  tower  where  she  dashed 
out  her  light. 

Creeping  round  the  tower  in  the  dirn  moonlight,  she 
listened  long  and  anxiously  at  door  and  window  to  dis- 
cover if  all  was  still  about  the  Chateau.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard  but  the  water  of  the  little  brookgurgling  in  its  pebbly 
bed,  which  seemed  to  be  all  that  was  awake  on  this  night  of 
death. 

La  Corriveau  emerged  cautiously  from  the  tower.  She 
crept  like  a  guilty  thing  under  the  shadow  of  the  hedge, 
and  got  away  unperceived  by  the  same  road  she  had  come. 
She  glided  like  a  dark  spectre  through  the  forest  of  Beau- 
manoir, and  returned  to  the  city  to  tell  Angdlique  des 
Meloises  that  the  arms  of  the  Intendant  were  now  empty 
and  ready  to  clasp  her  as  his  bride  ;  that  her  rival  was 
dead,  and  she  had  put  herself  under  bonds  forever  to  La 
Corriveau  as  the  price  of  innocent  blood. 

La  Corriveau  reached  the  city  in  the  grey  of  the  morn- 
ing :  a  thick  fog  lay  like  a  winding  sheet  upon  the  face 
of  nature.  The  broad  river,  the  lofty  rocks,  every  object, 
great  and  small,  were  hidden  from  view.  : 

To  the  intense  satisfaction  of  La  Corriveau,  the  fog 
concealed  her  return  to  the  house  of  Mfere  Malheur,  whence 
after  a  brief  repose,  and  with  a  command  to  the  old  crone 
to  ask  no  questions  yet,  she  sallied  forth  again  to  carry  to 
Ang^lique  the  welcome  news  that  her  rival  was  dead. 

No  one  observed  La  Corriveau  as  she  passed  in  her 


I  I  ^  ' -^ 


■■■■  f 

':  .-1    t'A 


4^i 


^l¥.l   r^E  ClilEN  If  OR 


peasant  dress  through  the  misly  streets,  which  did  not 
admit  of  an  objec:  being  discerned  ten-  paces  off. 

Ang^lique  was  up.  She  had  not  gone  to  bed  that 
night,  and  sat  feverishly  on  the  watch  expecting  the  arrival 
of  La  Corriveau.  uw    iuu->  ■.';^:j,..-,i:    ••' \  \/--:'-'   j  .■■■m;)  ..uaxii! 

She  had  counted  the  minutes  of  the  silent  hours,  of  the 
night  as  they  passed  by  her  in  a  terrible  panorama.  She 
pictured  to  her  imagination  the  successive  scenes  of  the 
tragedy  which  was  being  accomplished  at  Beaumanoir. 

The  hour  of  midnight  culminated  over  her  head,  and 
looking  out  of  her  window  at  the  black  distant  hills  in  the 
recesses  of  which  she  knew  lay  the  chateau,  her  agitation 
grew  intense.  She  knew  at  that  hour  La  Corriveau  must 
be  in  the  presence  of  her  victim.  Would  she  kill  her  ?  Was 
she  about  it  now  ?  The  thought  fastened  on  Ange'lique 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  would  not  let  go.  She  thought  of 
the  Intendant  and  was  filled  with  hope  :  she  thought  of  the 
crime  of  murder  and  shrunk  now  that  it  was  being  done. 

Angelique  was  not  wholly  bad,  far  from  it.  Her  reck 
less  ambition,  hot  passions,  and  cold  heart  had  led  her 
blindly  where  she  now  found  herself,  the  principal  in  a  deed 
of  murder,  which,  by  no  subterfuge  could  she  now  conceal 
from  herself,  she  was  more  guilty  of,  than  the  wicked  in- 
strument she  had  made  use  of. 

B-  All  night  long  had  she  tossed  and  disquieted  herself  in 
an  agony  of  conflicting  emotions.  The  thought  of  the  murder 
was  not  absent  for  one  moment  from  her  mind.  By  turns 
she  justified  it,  repented  of  it,  hoped  for  it,  condemned  it, 
and  wished  for  it  again !  Believing  it  done,  she  wished 
it  undone.  Fearing  it  undone,  she  was  ready  to  curse 
La  Corriveau  and  her  stars  that  it  was  not  done  1  Her 
mind  was  like  water,  ready  to  rush  through  any  floodgate 
that  chance  opened  to  her.  But  no  gate  opened  except 
the  one  she  had  deliberately  put  into  the  keeping  of  La 
Corriveau ' 

It  was  in  this  mood  she  waited  and  watched  for  the 
return  of  her  bloody  messenger.  She  heard  the  cautious 
foot  on  the  stone  steps.  She  knew  by  a  sure  instinct  whose 
it  was,  and  rushed  down  to  admit  her.  » 

They  met  at  the  door,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  one 
eager  glance  of  Angelique  at  the  dark  face  of  La  Corri- 
veau, drank  in  the  whole  fatal  story.  Caroline  de  St 
Castin  was  dead  1     Her  rival  in  the  love  of  the  IntendanI 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME, 


493 


was  beyond  all  power  of  rivalry  now !  The  lofty  doois  of 
ambitious  hope  stood  open :  what !  to  admit  the  queen  of 
beauty  and  of  society  ?  No !  but  a  murderess  who  would 
be  for  ever  haunted  with  the  fear  of  justice  !  It  seemed  at 
this  moment  us  if  tiie  lights  had  all  gone  out  in  the  palaces 
and  royal  halls,  wiierc  her  imagination  had  so  long  rur 
riot,  and  she  saw  only  dark  shadows,  and  heard  inartjcti- 
late  sounds  of  strange  voices  babbling  in  her  ear.  It  wa« 
the  unspoken  words  of  her  own  troubled  thoughts  and  the 
terrors  newly  awakened  in  her  soul ! 

Angt^lique  seized  the  hand  of  La  Corrivcau  not  with- 
out a  sliudder.  She  drew  her  hastily  up  to  her  chamber 
and  thrust  her  into  a  chair.  I'lacing  both  hands  upon  the 
shoulders  of  La  ('orriveau  she  looked  wildly  in  her  face,  ex- 
claiming in  a  half  exultant,  half  piteous  tone  :  "  Is  it  done  ? 
Is  it  really  done  ?  I  read  it  in  your  eyes  !  I  know  you 
have  done  the  deed  I    O  !  La  Corrivcau  !  " 

The  griui  countenance  of  the  woman  relaxed  into  a 
half  smile  of  scorn  and  surprise  at  the  unexpected  weakness 
which  she  instantly  noted  in  Angdlique's  manner. 

"  Yes  I  It  is  done  !  "  replied  she,  coldly,  "  and  it  is  well 
done  1  But,  by  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas  I  "  exclaimed 
she,  starting  from  the  chair  and  drawing  her  gaunt  fig- 
ure up  to  its  full  height,  while  her  black  eyes  shot  daggers, 
"  you  look,  Mademoiselle,  as  if  you  repented  its  oeing 
done  1     Do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  1  No  1  No,  not  now  I  "  replied  Angelique,  touched 
as  with  a  hot  iron.  "  I  will  not  repent  now  it  is  done  1 
that  were  folly,  needless,  dangerous,  now  it  is  done  !  Bu* 
is  she  dead  ?  Did  you  wait  to  see  if  she  were  really  dead  f 
People  look  dead  sometimes  and  are  not !  Tell  me  truly, 
and  conceal  nothing ! " 

"  La  Corriveau  does  not  her  work  by  halves,  Made- 
moiselle, neither  do  you;  only  you  talk  of  repentance 
after  it  is  done,  1  do  not !  thai  is  all  the  difference  !  Be 
satisfied  ;  The  lady  of  iJeaumanoir  is  dead  !  I  made  doubly 
sure  of  that,  and  deserve  a  dou]))e  reward  from  you !  " 

"  Reward !  You  shall  have  a'  1  you  crave  !  But  what  a 
secret  between  you  and  me  !  "  Angelique  looked  at  La 
Corriveau  as  if  this  thought  now  struck  her  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  in  this  won.an's  power.  She  shivered  from 
head  to  foot.  "  Your  reward  for  this  night's  work  is  here," 
faltered  she,  placing  her  hand  over  a  small  box.  She  did  not 


lit 

11 

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f  i:- 


494 


r//£  CHtEN  D'Ok. 


touch  it,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burn  her.  It  was  heavy 
with  pieces  of  gold.  "  They  are  uncounted,"  continued 
she.     "  Take  it,  it  is  all  yours  ! " 

La  Corriveau  snatched  the  box  off  the  table,  and  held 
it  to  her  bosom.  Ang^lique  continued,  in  a  monotonous 
tone,  as  one  conning  a  lesson  by  rote:  "  Use  it  prudently. 
Do.  not  seem  to  the  world  to  be  suddenly  rich ;  it  might  be 
inquired  into.  I  have  thought  of  everything  during  the 
past  night,  and  I  remember  I  had  to  tell  you  that  when  I 
gave  you  the  gold  I  Use  it  prudently  !  Something  else, 
too,  I  was  to  tell  you,  but  I  think  not  of  it  at  this  moment." 

"  Thanks,  and  no  thanks,  Mademoiselle  !  "  replied  La 
Corriveau  in  a  hard  tone.  "  Thanks  for  the  reward  so  fully 
earned.  No  thanks  for  your  faint  heart  that  robs  me  of 
my  well  earned  meed  of  applause  for  a  work  done  so  artis- 
tically, an'J  perfectly,  that  La  Brinvilliers,  or  La  Borgia  her- 
self, might  envy  me,  a  humble  paysanne  of  St.  Valier  !  " 

La  Corriveau  looked  proudly  up  as  she  said  this,  for 
she  felt  herself  to  be  anything  but  a  humble  paysanne. 
She  nourished  a  secret  pride  in  her  heart  over  the  perfect 
success  of  her  devilish  skill  in  poisoning. 

"  I  give  you  whatever  praise  you  desire,  "  replied  An- 
g^lique,  mechanically.  "  But  you  have  not  told  me  how  it 
was  done."  "Sit  down  again !"  continued  she,  with  a 
touch  of  her  imperative  manner,  "  and  tell  me  all  and 
every  incident  of  what  you  have  done." 

"  You  will  not  like  to  hear  it !  Better  be  content  with 
the  knowledge  that  your  rival  was  a  dangerous  and  a 
beautiful  one."  Ang^lique  looked  up  at  this.  "  Better  be 
content  to  know  that  she  is  dead,  without  asking  anymore." 

"  No  !  you  shall  tell  me  everything.  I  cannot  rest 
unless  I  know  all  !  " 

"  Nor  after  you  do  know  all  will  you  rest !  '*  replied 
La  Corriveau,  slightingly,  for  she  despised  the  evident 
trepidation  of  Angdlique. 

"  No  matter !  you  shall  tell  me.  I  am  calm  now." 
Angdlique  made  a  great  effort  to  appear  calm  while  she 
listened  to  the  tale  of  tragedy  in  which  she  had  played  so 
ileep  a  part. 

La  Corriveau  observing  that  the  gust  of  passion  was 
blown  over,  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite  Angdlique,  and 
placing  one  hand  on  the  knee  of  her  listener  as  if  to  hold 
her  fast,  began  the  terrible  recital. 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME, 


495 


A  flood  of  words,  pent  up  in  her  bosom,  sought  for 
Dtterance  to  a  listening,  sympathetic  ear.  La  Corriveau  was 
a  woman  in  that  respect;  and,  although  usually  moody  and 
silent,  a  great  occasion  made  her  pour  out  her  soul  in 
torrents  of  speech  like  fiery  lava.  She  spoke  powerfully  anc^ 
terribly. 

She  gave  Angelique  a  graphic,  minute,  and  not  untrue 
account  of  all  she  had  done  at  Beaumanoir,  dwelling  witt 
fierce  unction  on  the  marvellous  and  sudden  effects  of  the 
Aqua  lofana^  not  sparing  one  detail  of  the  beauty  and 
innocent  looks  of  her  victim ;  and  repeating,  with  a  mock- 
ing iaugh,  the  deceit  she  had  practised  upon  her  with 
regard  to  the  bouquet,  as  a  gift  from  the  Intendant. 

Angelique  listened  to  the  terrible  tale,  drinking  it  in 
with  eyes,  mouth,  and  ears.  Her  countenance  changed  to 
a  mask  of  ugliness,  wonderful  in  one  by  nature  so  fair  to 
see.  Cloud  followed  cloud  over  her  face  and  eyes  as  the 
dread  recital  went  on,  and  her  imagination  accompanied  it 
with  vivid  pictures  of  every  phase  of  the  diabolical  crime. 

When  La  Corriveau  described  the  presentation  of  the 
bouquet  as  a  gift  of  Bigot,  and  the  deadly  sudden  effect 
which  followed  its  joyous  acceptance,  the  thoughts  of  Caro- 
line in  her  white  robe,  stricken  as  by  a  thunderbolt,  shook 
Angdlique  with  terrible  emotion.  But  when  La  Corriveau, 
coldly  and  with  a  bitter  spite  at  her  softness,  described 
with  a  sudden  gesticulation,  and  eyes  piercing  her  through 
and  through,  the  strokes  of  the  poignard  upon  the  lifeless 
body  of  her  victim,  Angelique  sprang  up,  clasped  her  hands 
together,  and,  with  a  cry  of  woe,  fell  senseless  upon  the 
floor.  .  .       i    .       M-'Oi 

"  She  is  useless  now ! "  said  La  Corriveau,  rising  and 
spurning  Angdlique  with  her  foot.  "  I  deemed  she  had 
courage  to  equal  her  wickedness.  She  is  but  a  woman 
after  all — doomed  to  be  the  slave  of  some  man  through 
life,  while  aspiring  to  command  all  men !  It  is  not  of  such 
flesh  that  La  Corriveai  is  made  !  " 

La  Corriveau  stood  a  few  moments,  reflecting  what  w^iS 
best  to  be  done.  * 

All  things  considered,  she  decided  to  leave  Ange^iique 
to  come  to  of  herself,  while  she  made  the  best  of  h^r  way 
back  to  the  house  of  Mfere  Malheur,  with  the  intention  which 
she  carried  out,  of  returning  to  St.  Valier  with  her  infa- 
mous reward  that  very  day.  ;    -(/. 


II 


496 


**^'*v« 


A-J  , 


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'■}  ;■< '  ■ 


r//£  CHJEN  jyoR, 


Xll^liiKx    ffiiVMf^    *'w    JV'ltfl    ii 


•ftia 


vr  i'^i»'si 


ve..!  <vo;  'yti\^x 


U' 


'W'Aj 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


i    H 


/ 


/ 


"let's  talk  of  graves  and  worms  and  epitaph t,** 

ABOUT  the  hour  that  La  Corriveau  emerged  from  the 
gloomy  woods  of  Beauport,  on  her  return  to  the  city, 
the  night  of  the  murder  of  Caroline,  two  horsemen  were 
battering  at  full  speed  on  the  highway  that  led  to  Charle- 
bourg.  Their  dark  figures  were  irrecognizable  in  the  dim 
moonlight.  They  rode  fast  and  silent,  like  men  having 
important  business  before  them,  which  demanded  haste ; 
business  which  both  fully  understood  and  cared  not  now  to 
talk  about. 

And  so  it  was.  Bigot  and  Cadet,  after  the  exchange  of 
a  few  words  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  suddenly  left  the 
wine,  the  dice,  and  the  gay  company  at  the  palace,  and 
mounting  their  horses  rode,  unattended  by  groom  or  valet, 
in  the  direction  of  Beaumanoir. 

Bigot,  under  the  mask  of  gaiety  and  indifference,  had 
felt  no  little  alarm  at  the  tenor  of  the  royal  despatch,  and 
at  the  letter  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  concerning 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

The  proximate  arrival  of  Caroline's  father  in  the  colony 
waft  a  circumstance  ominous  of  trouble.  The  Baron  was 
no  trifler,  and  would  as  soon  choke  a  prince  as  a  beggar,  to 
revenge  an  insult  to  his  personal  honor  or  the  honor  of  his 
house. 

Bigot  cared  little  for  tha*,  however.  The  Intendant 
was  no  coward,  and  could  brazen  a  thing  out  with  any  man 
alive.  But  there  was  one  thing  which  he  knew  he  could  not 
brazen  out  or  fight  out,  or  do  anything  but  miserably  fail 
in,  should  it  come  to  the  question.  He  had  boldly  and 
wilfully  lied  at  the  Governor's  council  table — sitting  as  the 
King's  coiincillor  among  gentlemen  of  honor — when  he 
declared  that  he  knew  not  the  hiding-place  of  Caroline  de 
St.  Castin.  It  would  cover  him  with  eternal  disgrace,  as  a 
gentleman,  to  be  detected  in  such  a  flagrant  falsehood. 
It  would  ruin  him  as  a  courtier  in  the  favor  of  the  great 
Marquise  should  she  discover  that,  in  spite  of  his  denials 


''LETS  TALK  OF  GHAVim:'  ETC, 


49) 


of  the  fact,  he  had  harbored  and  concealed  the  missing 
lady  in  his  own  ch&teau  ! " 

Bigot  was  sorely  perplexed  over  this  turn  of  affairs 
He  uttered  a  thousand  curses  upon  all  cor  'ned  in  it, 
excepting  upon  Caroline  herself,  for  although  v^xed  at  her 
coming  to  him  at  all,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to 
curse  her.  But  cursing  or  blessing  availed  nothing  now. 
Time  was  pressing,  and  he  must  act. 

That  Caroline  would  be  sought  after  in  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  land,  he  knew  full  well,  from  the  character 
of  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  and  of  her  father.  His  own  chateau 
would  not  be  spared  in  the  general  search,  and  he  doubted 
if  the  secret  chamber  would  remain  a  secret  from  the  keen 
eyes  of  these  men.  He  surmised  that  others  knew  of  its 
existence  besides  himself  ;  old  servitors,  and  women  who 
had  passed  in  and  out  of  it  in  timirs  gone  by.  Dame 
Tremblay,  who  did  know  of  it,  was  not  to  bo  trusted  in  a 
great  temptation.  She  was  in  heart  the  charming  Jose- 
phine still,  and  could  be  bribed  or  seduced  by  any  one 
who  bid  high  enough  for  her. 

Bigot  had  no  trust  whatever  in  human  nature.  He  felt 
he  had  no  guarantee  against  a  discovery,  farther  than 
interest  or  fear  barred  the  door  against  inquiry.  He  could 
not  rely  for  a  moment  upon  the  inviolability  of  his  own 
house.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  would  demand  to  search,  and 
he,  bound  by  his  declarations  of  noncomplicity  in  the 
abduction  of  Caroline,  could  offer  no  reason  for  refusal 
without  rousing  instant  suspicion,  and  La  Corne  was  too 
sagacious  not  to  fasten  upon  the  remotest  trace  of  Caro- 
line, and  follow  it  up  to  a  complete  discovery. 

She  could  not,  therefore,  remain  longer  in  the  chateau 
— this  was  absolute,  and  he  must,  at  whatever  cost  and 
whatever  risk,  remove  her  to  a  fresh  place  of  concealment, 
until  the  storm  blew  over,  or  some  other  means  of  escape 
from  the  present  difficulty  oITered  themselves  in  the  chap 
ter  of  accidents,  which  Bigot  had  more  faith  in  than  in 
any  chapter  of  the  Old  or  New  'I'estament,  which  only 
taught  him  to  do  right  and  trust  God. 

In  accordance  with  this  design,  Bigot,  under  pretence  of 
business,  had  gone  off  the  very  next  day  after  the  meeting 
of  the  Governor's  Council,  in  the  direction  of  the  Three 
Rivers,  to  arrange  with  a  band  of  Montagnais,  whom  he 
could  rely  upon,  for  the  reception  of  Caroline,  in  the  dis- 


I    * 


iT^. 


I 


tlvh 


49$  rjf£  cm  EN  D*OR, 

guise  of  an  Indian  girl,  with  instructions  to  remove  theii 
wigwams  iminecliately  and  take  her  off  with  them  to  the 
wild  remote  valley  of  the  St.  Maurice. 

The  old  Indian  chief,  eager  to  oblige  the  Intendant 
had  assented  willingly  to  his  proposal,  promising  the  ger 
tlest  treatment  of  the  lady,  and  a  silent  tongue  concerning 
her. 

Bigot  was  impressive  in  his  commands  upon  these 
points,  and  the  chief  pledged  his  faith  upon  them,  delight- 
ed beyond  measure  by  the  promise  of  an  ample  supply  of 
fowder,  blankets,  and  provisions  for  his  tribe,  while  the 
ntendant  added  an  abundance  of  all  such  delicacies  as 
could  be  forwarded,  for  the  use  and  comfort  of  the  lady. 

To  carry  out  this  scheme  without  observation.  Bigot 
needed  the  help  of  a  trusty  friend,  one  whom  he  could 
thoroughly  rely  upon,  to  convey  Caroline  secretly  away 
from  Beaumanoir,  and  place  her  in  the  ke  iping  of  the 
Montagnais,  as  well  as  to  see  to  the  further  execution  of 
his  wishes  for  her  concealment  and  good  treatment. 

Bigot  had  many  friends, — men  living  on  Iiis  bounty, 
who  ought  only  to  have  been  too  happy  to  obey  his  slight- 
est wishes — friends  bound  to  him  by  disgraceful  secrets, 
and  common  interests,  and  pleasures.  But  he  could  trust 
none  of  them  with  the  secret  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

He  felt  a  new  and  unwonted  duiicacy  in  regard  to  her. 
Her  name  was  dear  to  him,  her  fame  even  was  becoming 
dearer.  To  his  own  surprise  it  troubled  him  now,  as  it 
had  never  troubled  him  before.  He  would  not  have  her 
name  defiled  in  the  mouths  of  such  men  as  drank  his  wine 
daily  and  nightly,  and  disputed  the  existence  of  any  virtue 
in  woman. 
,     Bigot  ground  his  teeth  as  he  muttered  to  himself — 

"  They  might  make  a  mock  of  whatever  other  woman 
they  pleased.  He,  himself,  could  out-do  them  all  in  coarse 
ribaldry  of  the  sex,  but  they  should  not  make  a  mock,  and 
flash  obscene  jests  at  the  mention  of  Caroline  de  St. 
Castin  I  They  should  never  learn  her  name.  He  could 
not  trust  one  of  them  with  the  secret  of  her  removal. 
And  yet  some  one  of  them  must  per  force  be  entrusted 
with  it  I " 

He  conned  over  the  names  of  his  associates  one  by 
one,  and  one  by  one  condemned  them  all  as  unworthy  of 
confidence-  in  a  matter  where  treachery  might  possibly  be 


** LET'S  TALK  OF  GRA  V£Sr       rc 


499 


now,  as  it 


niade  more  profitable  than  fidelity.     Bigo.  «■■  fals    him- 
self to  the  heart's  core,  and  believed  in  no  man's  truth. 

He  was  an  acute  judge  of  men.  He  read  their  motivos, 
their  bad  ones  especially,  with  the  accunicy  of  a  Mephisto 
philes,  and  with  the  same  cold  contempt  for  every  tr<ice  ot 
virtue. •■''.0-^  ^  -'>  >   ■  '     .:•"•■•.  u  .    '»•■'  .  >  ''■■.'     »: 

"  Varin  was  a  cunning  knave,"  he  said  ;  "  ambitious  of 
the  support  of  the  church.  Communing-with  his  aunt,  the  i 
superior  of  the  Ursulines,  whom  he  deceived,  and  who 
was  not  without  hope  of  himself  one  day  rising  to  be  In- 
tendant.  He  would  place  no  such  secret  in  the  keeping 
of  Varin  I"  :■ 

"Penisault  was  a  sordid  dog.  He  would  cheat  the 
Montagnais  of  his  gifts,  and  so  discontent  them  with  their 
charge.  He  had  neither  courage  nor  spirit  for  an  adven- 
ture. He  was  in  his  right  place  superintending  the  coun- 
ters of  the  Friponne.  He  despised  Penisault,  while  glad 
to  use  him  in  the  basest  offices  of  the  Grand  Company." 

"  Le  Mericier  was  a  pick-thank,  angling  after  the  favoi 
of  La  Pompadour — a  pretentious  knave,  as  hollow  as  one 
of  his  own  mortars.  He  suspected  him  of  being  a  spy  ot 
hers  upon  himself.  Le  Mericier  would  be  only  too  glad 
10  send  La  Pompadour  red  hot  information  of  such  an 
important  secret  as  that  of  Caroline,  and  she  would  reward  • 
it  as  good  service  to  the  king  and  to  herself."  ■'   •     '« 

"  Deschenaux  was  incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  of 
any  kind  when  he  got  drunk,  or  in  a  passion,  which  was 
every  day.  His  rapacity  reached  to  the  very  altar.  He 
would  rob  a  church,  and  was  one  who  would  rather  lake 
by  force  than  favor.  He  would  strike  a  Montagnais  who 
would  ask  for  a  blanket  more  than  he  cheated  him  with. 
He  would  not  trust  Deschenaux.  •; 

"  De  Pean,  the  quiet  fox,  was  wanted  to  look  after 
tnat  desperate  gallant  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  who 
was  still  in  the  palace,  and  must  be  kept  there  by  all  the 
seductions  of  wine,  dice  and  women,  until  we  have  done 
with  him.  De  Pean  was  the  meanest  spirit  of  them  all. 
He  would  kiss  my  foot  in  the  morning  and  sell  me  at 
night  for  a  handful  of  silver,"  said  Bigot.  "  Villains  every 
one  of  them,  who  would  not  scruple  to  advance  their  own 
interests  with  La  Pompadour  by  his  betrayal  in  telling  her 
such  a  secret  as  that  of  Caroline's." 

"De   Repentigny  had  honor  and  truth  in  h*m,  and 


^jjj^^r 


T'i 

m 


500 


r//£  ailEN  lyOJi, 


could  be  entirely  trusted  if  he  promised  to  serve  a  friend 
But  Bigot  darud  not  name  to  him  a  matter  of  this  kind. 
He  would  spurn  it,  drunk  as  he  was.  He  was  still  in  all  his 
instincts  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier.  He  could  only  be 
used  by  liigot,  through  an  abuse  of  his  noblest  qualities 
He  dared  not  broach  such  a  scheme  to  Le  Gardcur  de 
Repentigny  I "  .  ,  • 

Among  his  associates  there  was  but  one  who,  in  spite 
of  his  brutal  manners  and  coarse  speech,  perhaps  because 
of  these,  Bigot  would  trust  as  a  friend,  to  help  him  in  a 
serious  emergency  like  the  present. 

Cadet,  the  Commissary  Oencral  of  New  France,  was 
faithful  to  Bigot  as  a  fierce  bull  dog  to  his  master.  Cadet 
was  no  hypocrite,  nay,  he  may  have  appeared  to  be  worse 
than  in  reality  he  was.  He  was  bold  and  outspoken, 
rapacious  of  other  men's  goods,  and  as  prodigal  of  his 
own.  Clever  withal,  fearless,  and  fit  for  any  bold  enter- 
prise. He  ever  allowed  himself  to  be  guided  by  the 
superior  intellect  of  Bigot,  whom  he  regarded  as  the 
prince  of  good  fellows,  and  swore  by  him,  profanely 
enough,  on  all  occasions,  as  the  shrewdest  head  and  the 
quickest  hand  to  turn  over  money  in  New  France. 

Bigot  could  trust  Cadet.  He  had  only  to  whisper  a 
.  few  words  in  his  ear  to  see  him  jump  up  from  the  table 
where  he  was  playing  cards,  dash  his  stakes  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand  into  the  lap  of  his  antagonist,  a  gift  or  a  for- 
feit, he  cared  not  which,  for  not  finishing  the  game.  In 
three  minutes  Cadet  was  booted,  with  his  heavy  riding- 
whip  in  his  hand  ready  to  mount  his  horse  and  accompany 
Bigot  "  to  Beaumanoir  or  to  Hell ! "  he  said,  "  if  he  wanted 
to  go  there." 

In  the  short  space  of  time,  while  the  grooms  saddled 
their  horses,  Bigot  drew  Cadet  aside  and  explained  to  him 
the  situation  of  his  affairs,  informing  him  in  a  few  words, 
who  the  lady  was,  who  lived  in  such  retirement  in  the 
ch&teau,  and  of  his  denial  of  the  fact  before  the  Council 
and  Governor.  He  told  him  of  the  letters  of  the  king 
and  of  La  Pompadour  respecting  Caroline,  and  of  the 
necessity  of  removing  her  at  once  far  out  of  reach  before 
the  actual  search  for  her  was  begun. 

Cadet's  cynical  eyes  flashed  in  genuine  sympathy  with 
Bigot,  and  he  laid  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and 
uttered  a  frank  exclamation  of  admiration  at  his  ruse  to 
cheat  La  Pompadour  and  La  Galissonifere  both. 


-> 


LErS  TALK  OF  GRAVRs;'  ETC. 


SM 


f  "  By  St.  Picot !  "  said  he,  "  I  would  rather  go  without 
dinner  for  a  month  than  you  should  not  have  asked  me, 
Bigot,  to  help  you  out  of  this  scrape.  What  if  you  did 
lie  to  that  fly-catching  beggar  at  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis, 
who  has  not  conscience  to  take  a  dishonest  stiver  from  a 
cheating  Albany  Dutchman  !  Where  was  the  harm  in  it  ? 
Better  lie  to  him  than  tell  the  truth  to  La  Pompadour 
aboir  that  girl  !  Egad!  Madame  Fish  would  serve  you  as 
the  Iroquois  served  my  fat  clerk  at  Chouagen — make 
roast  meat  of  you  if  she  knew  it !  Such  a  pother  about  a 
girl.  Damn  the  women  !  always  !  I  say  Bigot !  A  man  is 
never  out  of  hot  water  when  he  has  to  do  with  them  !" 

Cadet  was  an  habitual  scorner  of  women.  He  was 
always  glad  to  shun  them,  or  get  rid  of  them  ;  but  on  the 
present  occasion  he  saw  clearly  that  Bigot's  position  was 
fatally  compromised  unless  he  got  well  out  of  this  affair  of 
Caroline  St.  de  Castin. 

Striking  Bigot's  hand  hard  with  his  own,  he  promised, 
"  wet  or  dry,  through  flood  or  fire,  to  ride  with  him  to 
Beaumanoir,  and  take  the  girl,  or  lady  ! — he  begged  the 
Intendant's  pardon — and  by  such  -^ays  as  he  alone  knew, 
he  would,  in  two  days,  place  her  safely  among  the  Mon- 
tagnais,  and  order  them  at  once,  without  an  hour's  delay,  to 
pull  up  stakes  and  remove  their  wigwams  to  the  Tuque  oi  the 
St.  Maurice,  where  Satan  himself  could  not  find  her.  And 
the  girl  might  remain  there  for  seven  years  without  ever 
being  heard  tell  of,  by  any  white  person  in  the  colony.'* 

Bigot  and  Cadet  rode  rapidly  forward  until  they  came 
to  the  dark  forest,  where  the  faint  outline  of  road,  barely 
visible,  would  have  perplexed  Bigot  to  have  kept  it  alone 
in  the  night.  But  Cadet  was  born  in  Charlebourg ;  he 
knew  every  path,  glade,  and  dingle  in  the  forest  of  Beau- 
manoir, and  rode  on  without  drawing  bridle. 

Bigot,  in  his  fiery  eagerness,  had  hitherto  ridden  fore- 
most. Cadet  now  led  the  way,  dashing  under  the  boughs 
of  the  great  trees  that  overhung  the  road.  The  tramp  of 
their  horses  woke  the  echoes  of  the  woods.  But  they 
were  not  long  in  reaching  the  park  of  Beaumanoir. 

They  saw  before  them  the  tall  chimney  stacks,  and  the 
high  roofs  and  the  white  walls  of  the  Chateau,  looking 
spectral  enough  in  the  wan  moonlight — ^ghostly,  silent, 
and  ominous.  One  light  only  was  visible  in  the  porter's 
lodge,  all  else  was  dark,  cold  and  sepulchral. 


502 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


^1 


The  old  watchful  porter  at  the  gate  was  instantly  on 
foot  to  see  who  came  at  that  hour,  and  was  surprised 
enough  at  sight  of  his  master  and  the  Sieur  Cadet,  without 
letinue,  or  even  a  groom  to  accompany  them. 

Thiiy  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  outside  the  gate, 
"  Run  to  the  chateau,  Marcele,  without  making  the  least 
noise."  said  Bigot.  "  Call  none  of  the  servants,  but  rap 
gently  at  the  door  of  Dame  Tremblay.  Bid  her  rise 
instantly,  without  waking  anyone.  Say  the  Intendant  de- 
sires to  see  her.     I  expect  guests  from  the  city." 

"  I  hate  to  lie  even  to  servants  !  "  said  Bigot  indignantly. 
"  No  one  knows  what  inquiries  may  be  made  !  No  weed 
that  grows  is  so  prolific  in  multiplication  as  a  lie !  A  weed 
will  fill  the  world,  and  a  lie  will  fill  the  universe  with  its 
progeny,  unless  it  be  choked  in  time." 

"  Well ! "  said  Cadet,  "  I  do  not  care  to  lie  often, 
Bigot !  because  truth  hits  your  enemy  harder  than  lies ! 
When  it  does  not,  I  see  no  harm  in  a  round  shot  of  a  lie,  if 
it  will  hurt  the  more !  " 

The  porter  returned  with  the  information  that  Dame 
Tremblay  had  got  up,  and  was  ready  to  receive  His 
Excellency. 

Bidding  old  Marcele  take  care  of  the  horses,  they 
walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  chateau,  at  the  door  of 
which  stood  Dame  Tremblay  hastily  dressed,  courtseying 
and  trembling  at  this  sudden  summons  to  receive  the 
Intendant  and  Sieur  Cadet. 

"  Good  night,  Dame  ! "  said  Bigot  in  a  low  tone,  "con- 
duct us  instantly  to  the  Grand  Gallery !  " 

"  O  your  Excellency  !  "  replied  the  Dame,  courtseying, 
"  I  am  your  humble  servant  at  all  times,  day  and  night,  as 
it  is  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  to  ser\'e  my  master ! " 

"  Well  then  !  "  replied  Bigot  impatiently,  "  let  us  go  in 
and  make  no  noise." 

The  three — Dame  Tremblay  leading  the  way  with  a 
candle  in  each  hand,  passed  up  the  broad  stair  and  into 
the  gallery  communicating  with  the  apartments  of  Caroline. 
T!ie  Dame  set  her  candles  on  the  table  and  stood  with  her 
hands  across  her  apron,  in  a  submissive  attitude  waiting 
the  orders  of  her  master.  > 

"  Dame !  "  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  a  faithful  servant, 
I  have  trusted  you  wi' h  much!  can  I  trust  you  with  a 
greater  matter  still  ?" 


'^ LET'S  TALK  OF  GkAVES;'  ETC. 


503 


ntly  on 
irprised 
without 

he  gate, 
he  least 
but  rap 
ler  rise 
lant  de- 

gnantly. 

So  weed 
A  weed 
with  its 

ie  often, 
lan  lies ! 
>f  a  lie,  if 

at  Dame 
eive  His 

es,  they 

door  of 

|urtseying 

eive  the 


»e,  "con- 


irtseying, 
I  night,  as 
I" 


us  go 


in 


[y  with  a 

land  into 

ICarolinc 

with  her 

waiting 

servant, 
with  a 


vr    "O,  your  Excellency!  I  would  die  to  serve  so  noble 
and  generous  a  master!    It  is  a  servant's  duty!** 

*'  Few  servants  think  so !  nor  do  I !  But  you  have  been 
faithful  to  your  charge  respecting  this  poor  lady  within, 
have  you  not  Dame  ? "  Bigot  looked  as  if  his  eyes  searched 
her  very  vitals.  *  ;■  -  v  .    ^<    > «.  lun 

"O  Lord!  O  Lord !"  thought  the  Dame  turning  pale 
"  He  has  heard  about  the  visit  of  that  cursed  M^re  Mal- 
heur, and  he  has  come  to  hang  me  up  for  it  in  the  gal- 
lery ! "  She  stammered  out  in  reply,  "O  yes !  I  have  been 
faithful  to  my  charge  about  the  lady,  your  Excellency  !  I 
have  not  failed  wilfully  or  negligently  in  any  one  point,  I 
assure  you !  I  have  been  at  once  careful  and  kind  to  her 
as  you  bade  me  to  be,  your  Excellency !  Indeed  I  could 
not  be  otherwise  to  a  live  angel  in  the  house  like  her ! " 

"  So  I  believe.  Dame ! "  said  Bigot  in  a  tone  of  ap- 
proval, that  quite  lifted  her  heart.  This  spontaneous  praise 
of  Caroline  touched  him  somewhat,  "  You  have  done  well ! 
Now  can  you  keep  another  secret.  Dame !  "  *  " 

"  A  secret !  and  entrusted  to  me  by  your  Excellency ! " 
replied  she  in  a  voice  of  wonder,  at  such  a  question.  "  The 
marble  statue  in  the  grotto  is  not  closer  than  I  am,  your 
Excellency.  I  was  always  too  fond  of  a  secret  .ever  to  part 
with  it !  When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport  I  never  told,  even  in  confession,  who  they  were 
who — " 

"Tut !  I  will  trust  you  Dame,  better  than  I  would  have 
trusted  the  charming  Josephine  !  If  all  tales  be  true,  you 
were  a  gay  girl,  Dame,  and  a  handsome  one  in  those  days, 
I  have  heard  1 "  added  the  Intendant  with  well  planned 
flatteiy. 

A  smile  and  a  look  of  intelligence  between  the  Dame  and 
Bigot,  followed  this  sally,  while  Cadet  had  much  to  do 
to  keep  in  one  of  the  hearty  horse  laughs  he  used  to  in- 
dulge in,  and  which  would  have  roused  the  whole  chateau. 

The  flattery  of  the  Intendant  quite  captivated  the 
Dame.  "I  will  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  your 
Excellency,  if  you  want  me,"  said  she,  "  what  shall  I  do  to 
oblige  your  Excellency  ? " 

"Well,  Dame  you  must  know  then,  that  the  Sieur  Cadet 
and  I  have  come  to  remove  that  dear  lady  from  the 
ch&teau  to  another  place,  where  it  is  needful  for  her  to  go 
for  the  present  time ;  and  if  you  are  questioned  about  her, 


$04 


THE  CHIEN  D'On. 


h\ 


III 


*  t 


i-; 

I 


v% 


lit 


fl#i': 


mind  you  are  to  say  she  never  was  here,  and  you  Icnow 
nothing  of  her ! " 

"  I  will  not  only  say  it,"  replied  the  Dame  with  prompt- 
ness, "  1  will  swear  it  until  I  am  black  in  the  face,  if  you 
command  me  your,  Excellency !  Poor  dear  lady  1  may  I 
not  ask  where  she  is  going?" 

"  No  !  she  will  be  all  right  I  I  will  tell  you  in  due  time. 
It  is  needful  for  people  to  change  sometimes  you  know, 
Dame  1  Vou  comprehend  that !  You  had  to  manage  mat- 
ters discreetly  when  you  were  the  charming  Josephine  !  I 
dare  say  you  had  to  change  too  sometimes !  Every  woman 
has  an  intrigue  once  at  least,  in  her  lifetime,  and  wants  a 
change.  But  this  lady  is  not  clever  like  the  charming 
Josephine,  therefore  we  have  to  be  clever  for  her  I " 

The  Dame  laughed  prudently  yet  knowingly  at  this, 
while  Bigot  continued  :  "  Now  you  understand  all  I.  Go  to 
her  chamber,  Dame  !  Present  our  compliments  with  our 
regrets  for  disturbing  her,  at  this  hour.  Tell  her  that  the 
Intendant  and  the  Sieur  Cadet  desire  to  see  her  on  impor- 
tant business." 

Dame  Tremblay  with  a  broad  smile  all  over  her  coun- 
tenance at  her  master's  jocular  allusions  to  the  charming 
Josephine,  left  at  once  to  carry  her  message  to  the  chamber 
of  Caroline. 

She  passed  out,  while  the  two  gentlemen  waited  in  the 
gallery.  Bigot  anxious  but  not  doubtful  of  his  influence  to 
persuade  the  gentle  girl  to  leave  the  chateau,  Cadet  coolly 
resolved  that  she  must  go  whether  she  liked  it  or  no !  He 
would  banish  every  woman  in  New  France  to  the  Tuque  of 
the  St.  Maurice  had  he  the  power,  in  order  to  rid  himself 
and  Bigot  of  the  eternal  mischief  and  trouble  of  them  ! 

Neither  Bigot  nor  Cadet  spoke  for  some  minutes  after 
the  departure  of  the  Dame.  They  listened  to  her  foot- 
steps as  the  sound  of  them  died  away  in  the  distant  rooms, 
where  one  door  opened  after  another  as  she  passed  on  to 
the  secret  chamber. 

"  She  is  now  at  the  door  of  Caroline ! "  thought  Bigot  as 
his  imagination  followed  Dame  Tremblay  on  her  errand 
"  She  is  now  speaking  to  her !  I  know  Caioline  will  make 
no  delay  to  admit  us  !  "  Cadet  on  his  side  was  very  quiet 
and  careless  of  ought  save  to  take  the  girl,  and  get  hei 
safely  away  before  daybreak. 

A  few   moments  of    heavy  silence    and  expectation 


''LET'S  TALK  OF  CHAVES,"  EIX,. 


l^% 


know 

rompt- 
if  you 
may  I 

e  time, 
know, 
re  mat- 
ne!  I 
woman 
wants  a 
larming 

at  this, 
Go  to 
/ith  our 
that  the 
1  impor- 

er  coun- 
harming 
:hamber 

i  in  the 
aence  to 
2t  coolly 
10 1     He 
Tuque  of 
himself 
em ! 
tes  after 
er  foot- 
t  rooms, 
d  on  to 

Bigot  as 

errand 

rill  make 

iry  quiet 

get  hei 

)ectation 


passed  over  th  ni.  The  howl  of  a  distant  watch  dog  was 
heard  and  all  was  again  still.  The  low  monotonous  ticking 
of  the  great  clock  at  the  head  of  the  gallery  made  the 
silence  still  more  oppressive.  It  seemed  to  be  measuring 
off  eternity,  not  time.  -.  .  ^ 

The  hour,  the  circumstance,  the  brooding  stillness, 
waited  for  a  cry  of  murder  to  ring  through  the  chateau, 
waking  its  sleepers  and  bidding  them  come  and  see  the 
fearful  tragedy  that  lay  in  the  secret  chamber. 

•  But  no  cry  came.  Fortunately  for  Bigot  it  did  not ! 
The  discovery  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  under  such  cii- 
cumstances  would  have  closed  his  career  in  New  France, 
and  ruined  him  forever  in  the  favor  of  the  Court. 

Dame  Tremblay  returned  to  her  master  and  Cadet  with 
the  information  "  that  the  lady  was  not  in  her  bed  cham- 
ber, but  had  gone  down,  as  was  l.er  wont,  in  the  still  hours 
of  the  night,  to  pray  in  her  oratory  in  the  secret  chamber, 
where  she  wished  never  to  be  disturbed. 

"  Well,  Dame  !  "  replied  Bigot,  "  you  may  retire  to  your 
own  room  !  I  will  go  down  to  the  secret  chamber  myself. 
These  vigils  are  killing  her !  poor  girl !  If  your  lady  should 
be  missing  in  the  morning,  remember  Dame !  that  you 
make  no  remark  of  it,  she  is  going  away  to  night  with  me 
and  the  Sieur  Cadet  and  vyill  return  soon  again !  so  be 
discreet  and  keep  your  tongue  well  between  your  teeth, 
which  I  am  glad  to  observe,"  remarked  he  with  a  smile, 
"  are  still  sound  and  white  as  ivory  ! " 

Bigot  wished  by  such  flattery  to  secure  her  fidelity,  and 
he  fully  succeeded.  The  compliment  to  her  teeth  was 
more  agreeable  than  would  have  been  a  purse  of  money. 
It  caught  the  Dame  with  a  hook  there  was  no  escape  from. 

Dame  Tremblay  courtseyed  very  low,  and  smiled  very 
broadly  to  show  her  really  good  teeth  of  which  she  was 
extravagantly  vain.  She  assured  the  Intendant  of  her 
perfect  disjreti'm  and  obedience  to  all  his  commands. 

"Trust  to  me,  your  Excellency! "  said  she  with  a  pro- 
found courtesy.  "  I  never  dece* ved  a  gentleman  yet, 
except  the  Sieur  Tremblay,  and  he,  good  man,  was  none ! 
When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  and  all  the  gay 
gallants  of  the  city  used  to  flatter  and  spoil  me,  I  never 
deceived  one  of  them  !  never !  I  knew  that  all  is  vanity  in 
this  world,  but  my  eyes  and  teeth  were  considered  very  fine 
in  those  days,  your  Excellency  !  " 


So6 


TfiE  CUlEffD'Ok. 


»  ^  » 


III 


"  And  are  yet,  Dame  !  Zounds  I  Lake  Beauport  has 
had  nothing  to  equal  them  since  you  retired  from  business 
as  a  beauty  !  But  mind  my  orders,  Dame  !  keep  quiet  and 
you  will  please  me  I     Good  night.  Dame  ! " 

"  Good  night,  Your  Excellency  !  good  night,  your  Hon- 
or I"  replied  she,  flushed  with  gratified  vanity.  She  left 
Bigot  vowing  to  herself  that  he  was  the  finest  gentleman 
and  the  best  judge  of  a  woman  in  New  France !  The 
Sieur  Cadet  she  could  not  like.  He  never  looked  pleasant 
on  a  woman,  as  a  gentleman  ought  to  do!    '  .'     '■   -'*' 

The  Dame  left  them  to  themselves,  and  went  off  trip- 
pingly in  high  spirits  to  her  own  chamber,  where  she 
instantly  ran  to  the  mirror  to  look  at  her  teeth !  and  made 
faces  in  the  glass,  like  a  foolish  girl  in  her  teens. 

Bigot  out  of  a  feeling  of  delicacy  not  usual  with  him, 
bid  Cadet  wait  in  the  anteroom  while  he  went  forward  to 
the  secret  chamber  of  Caroline.  "  The  sudden  presence 
of  a  stranger  might  alarm  her,"  he  said. 

He  descended  the  stair  and  knocked  softly  at  the  door, 
calling  in  a  low  tone  "Caroline!  Caroline  !"  No  answer 
came !  He  wondered  at  that,  for  her  quick  ear  used 
always  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  his  footsteps  while 
yet  afar  off.  ^       .  .'   • 

He  knocked  louder,  and  c^led  again  her  name.  Alas ! 
he  might  have  called  for  ever !  that  voice  would  never  make 
her  heart. flutter  again  or  her  eyes  brighten  at  his  footstep, 
that  sounded  sweeter  than  any  music  as  she  waited 
and  watched  for  him,  always  ready  to  meet  him  at  the 

door.     '.Mv-   '-,i    r-     >,.;!     \;i;  '    ■  ■  "  '■    'i'^'' 

Bigot  anticipated  something  wrong !  and  with  a  hasty 
hand  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  secret  chamber  and 
went  in !  A  blaze  of  light  filled  his  eyes  !  a  white  form  lay 
upon  the  floor.  He  saw  it  and  he  saw  nothing  else !  She 
lay  there  with  her  ui  closed  eyes  looking,  as  the  dead  only 
look  at  the  living.  One  hand  was  pressed  to  her  bosom, 
the  other  was  sti  etched  out,  holding  the  broken  stem 
and  a  few  green  leaves  of  the  fatal  bouquet  which 
La  Corriveau  had   not  wholly  plucked  from   her  grasp. 

Bigot  stood  for  a  moment  stricken  dumb,  and  trains- 
fixed  with  horror,  then  sprang  forward  and  knelt  over  her 
with  a  cry  of  agony.  He  thought  she  might  have  fallen  in 
a  swoon,  he  touched  her  pale  forehead,  her  lips,  her  hands. 
He  felt  her  heart,  it  did  not  beat ;  he  lifted  her  head  to  hia 


'* LET'S  TALK  OP  GRAVES;'  ETC, 


507 


bosom,  it  fell  like  the  flower  of  a  lily  broken  on  its  stem, 
and  he  knew  she  was  dead  !  He  saw  the  red  streaks  of 
blood  on  her  snowy  robe,  and  he  saw  she  was  murdered  I 
A  long  cry  like  the  wail  of  a  man  in  torture  burst  from 
him.  It  woke  more  than  one  sleeper  in  the  distant 
chambers  of  the  chAtenu,  making  them  start  upon  their 
pillows  to  listen  for  another  cry,  but  none  came.  Bigot 
was  a  man  of  iron  \  he  retained  self-possession  enough  to 
recollect  the  danger  of  rousing  the  house. 


■-*»■  'r.'-' 


•jyi 


He  smothered  his  cries  in  suffocating  sobs,  but  they 
reached  the  ear  of  Cadet,  who,  foreboding  some  terrible 
catastrophe,  rushed  into  the  room  where  the  secret  door 
stood  open.  The  light  glared  up  the  stair.  He  ran  down 
and  saw  the  Intendant  on  his  knees,  holding  in  his  arms  the 
half  raised  form  of  a  woman  which  he  kissed  and  called 
by  name  like  a  man  distraught  with  grief  and  despair.    ,<:? 

Cadet's  coarse  and  immovable  nature  stood  him  in  good 
stead  at  this  moment.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  girl  they  had  come  to  bear  away  was  dead  I 
How  ?  He  knew  not ;  but  the  Intendant  must  hot  be  suf- 
fered to  make  an  alarm.  There  was  danger  of  discovery 
on  all  sides  now,  and  the  necessity  of  concealment  was  a 
thousand  times  greater  than  ever.  There  was  no  time  to 
question,  but  instant  help  was  needed.  In  amaze  at  the 
spectacle  before  him,  Cadet  instantly  flew  to  the  assistance 
of  the  Intendant. 

He  approached  Bigot  without  speaking  a  word,  although 
his  great  eyes  expressed  a  look  of  sympathy  never  seen 
there  before.  He  disengaged  the  dead  form  of  Caroline  ten- 
derly from  the  embrace  of  Bigot,  and  laid  it  gently  upon 
the  floor,  and  lifting  Bigot  up  in  his  stout  arms,  whis- 
pered hoarsely  in  his  ear :  "  Keep  still,  Bigot !  keep  still  I 
not  one  word  I  make  no  alarm !  This  is  a  dreadful  busi- 
ness, but  we  must  go  to  another  room  to  consider  calmly, 
calmly,  mind,  what  it  means  and  what  is  to  be  done."     ^.i 

"O,  Cadet  I  Cadet  I  "  moaned  the  Intendant,  still  rest- 
ing on  his  shoulder,  "  She  is  dead  !  dead !  when  I  just 
wanted  her  to  live !  I  have  been  hard  with  women,  but  if 
there  was  one  I  loved,  it  was  she  who  lies  dead  before  me  I 
Who  1  who  has  done  this  bloody  deed  to  me  t  " 

"Who  has  done  it  to  her,  you  mean  !  you  are  not  killed 
yet,  old  friend,  but  will  live  to  revenge  this  horrid  busi- 
ness!"  answered  Cadet  with  rough  sympathy. 


>>t*v 


?:C  ^ 


f! 


1} 


508  TW'^  CHIEN  £fOR 

"  I  would  give  my  life  to  restore  hers  !  "  replied  Bigot 
d<!spairingly.  "  O,  Cadet '  you  never  knew  what  was  in 
my  heart  about  this  girl !  and  how  I  had  resolved  to  make 
her  reparation  for  the  evil  I  had  done  her  !  " 

"  Well,  I  can  guess  what  was  in  your  heart,  Bigot.  Come 
old  friend,  you  are  getting  more  calm,  you  can  walk  now  I 
Let  us  go  up  stairs  to  consider  what  is  to  be  done  about  \X, 
Damn  the  women  1  they  are  man's  torment  whether  alive 


'^i^'^  ■\f<  :ii'rr:.rik\);  ^M:\ 


\\\  \%y  i'^  \ 


or  dead  I " 

Bigot  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  tumultuous 
feelings  to  notice  Cadet's  remark.  He  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  without  resistance,  to  another  room,  out  of  sight  of 
the  murdered  girl,  in  whose  presence  Cadet  knew  calm 
council  was  impossible. 

Cadet  seated  Bigot  on  a  couch  and  sitting  beside  him, 
bade  him  be  a  man  and  not  a  fool  I  He  tried  to  rouse 
Bigot  by  irritating  him,  thinking  in  his  coarse  way,  that 
that  was  better  than  maudlin  over  him,  as  he  considered 
it,  with  vain  expressions  of  sympathy. 

"  I  would  not  give  way  so,"  said  he,  "  for  all  the 
women  in  and  out  of  Paradise  1  and  you  are  a  man.  Bigot ! 
Remember  you  have  brought  me  here,  and  you  have  to 
take  me  safely  back  again,  out  of  this  den  of  murder." 

**  Yes,  Cadet,"  replied  Bigot  rousing  himself  up  at  the 
sharp  tone  of  his  friend,  "  I  must  think  of  your  safety,  1 
care  little  for  my  own  at  this  moment.     Think  for  me." 

"  Well  then,  I  will  think  for  you,  and  I  think  this, 
Bigot,  that  if  the  Governor  finds  out  this  assassination, 
done  in  your  house,  and  that  you  and  I  have  been  here  at 
this  hour  of  night,  with  the  murdered  girl,  by  God  !  he  will 
say  we  have  alone  done  it !  and  the  world  will  believe  it !  so 
rouse  up,  I  for  one  do  not  want  to  be  taxed  vith  the  mur 
der  of  a  woman,  and  still  less  hang  innocently  for  the 
death  of  one.  I  wouki  not  risk  my  little  finger  for  all 
the  women  alive  I  let  alone  my  neck  for  a  dead  one ! " 

The  suggestion  was  like  a  sharp  probe  in  his  flesh.  It 
touched  Bigot  to  the  quick.  He  started  up  on  his  feet  ; 
"  You  are  right.  Cadet,  it  only  wants  that  accusation  to 
make  me  go  mad  !  But  my  head  is  not  my  own  yet  1  I  can 
think  of  nothing  but  her  lying  there,  dead  in  her  loveliness 
and  in  her  love  I  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I  will  do  it." 

"  Aye,  now  you  talk  reasonably.  Now  you  are  coming 
to  yourself,  Bigot.    We  came  to  remove  her  alive  from 


** LET  S  TALK  OF  GRAVES*  ETC. 


5«f 


here,  did  we  not  ?  We  must  now  remove  her  dead.  She 
cannot  remain  where  she  is  at  the  risk  of  certain  discovery 
to-morrow." 

"  No,  the  secret  chamber  would  not  hide  such  a  secret 
as  that,"  replied  Bigot,  recovering  his  self-possession,  "but 
how  to  remove  her  ?  we  cannot  carry  her  forth  without 
discovery."  Bigot's  practical  intellect  was  waking  up  to 
the  danger  of  leaving  the  murdered  girl  in  the  chateau. 

Cadet  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  rapid  strides,  rub- 
bing his  forehead,  and  twitching  his  moustache  violently, 
"  I  will  tell  you  what  we  have  got  to  do.  Bigot  I  Par  Dieu  i 
we  must  bury  her  where  she  is,  down  there  in  the  vaulted 
chamber." 

,  "What,  bury  her  1"  Bigot  looked  at  him  with  intense 
surprise.. i;^'-n:i.,.. .5  •  ■■   >>  ^j.  :::!:.,?-,.,  ^ 

'*  Yes,  we  must  bury  her  in  that  Very  chamber,  Bigot. 
We  must  cover  up  somebody's  damnable  work  to  avert 
suspicion  from  ourselves  1  A  pretty  task  for  you  and  me, 
Bigot  I  Par  Dieu  I  I  could  laugh  like  a  horse,  if  I  were 
not  afraid  of  being  overheard."  •  ;Mfil  .i^^i  lijr!  'o-'iir 

"  But  who  is  to  dig  a  grave  for  her  ?  surely  not  you  or 
I,"  replied  Bigot  with  a  look  of  dismay. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen  as  we  are,  you  and  I  must  do  it.  Bigot. 
Zounds !  I  learned  to  dig  and  delve  when  I  was  a  stripling 
at  Charlebourg,  and  in  the  trenches  at  Louisbourg,  and  I 
have  not  yet  forgotten  the  knack  of  it  1  But  where  to  get 
spades,  Bigot,  you  are  master  here,  and  ought  to  know? " 

"  I,  how  should  I  know  ?  It  is  terrible.  Cadet,  to  bury 
her  as  if  we  had  murdered  her !  Is  there  no  other  way  ? " 

"  None.  We  are  in  a  cahot,  and  must  get  our  cariole 
out  of  it  as  best  we  can !  I  see  plainly  we  two  shall  be 
taxed  with  this  murder,  Bigot,  if  we  let  it  be  discovered  1 
Besides,  utter  ruin  awaits  you  from  La  Pompadour  if  she 
find  out  you  ever  had  this  girl  at  Beaumanoir  in  keeping. 
Come !  time  for  parley  is  past ;  where  shall  we  find 
spades ) — ^we  must  to  work.  Bigot !  " 

A  sudden  though*  lighted  up  the  eyes  of  the  Intendant, 
who  saw  the  force  of  Cadet's  suggestion,  strange  and 
repulsive  as  it  was.  "  I  think  I  know,"  said  he,  "  the 
gardeners  keep  'heir  tools  in  the  old  tower,  and  we  can 
get  there  by  the  secret  passage  and  return."        ■  k  y 

"  Bravo  ! "  exclaimed  Cadet,  encouragingly,  **  come, 
show  the  way,  and  we  will  get  the  tools  in  a  trice  I  J 


11  ^l 


$IO 


r^£  CHIEN  uroR, 


always  heard  there  was  a  private  way  under  ground  to  th« 
old  tower.  It  never  stood  its  master  in  better  stead  than 
now ;  perhaps  never  worse  if  it  has  let  in  the  murderer  oi 
this  poor  girl  of  yours." 

Bigot  rose  up,  very  faint  and  weak ;  Cadet  took  his 
arm  to  support  him,  and  bidding  him  be  hrm  and  not  give 
way  again  at  sight  of  her  dead  body,  led  him  back  to  the 
chamber  of  death.  "  Let  us  first  look  around  a  moment," 
said  he,  "  to  find,  if  possible,  some  trace  of  the  hellish 
assassins." 

The  lamps  burned  brightly,  shedding  a  glare  of  light 
over  every  object  in  the  secret  chamber. 

Cadet  looked  narrowly  round,  but  found  little  trace  of 
the  murderers.  The  drawers  of  the  escritoire  stood  open, 
with  their  contents  in  great  disorder,  a  circumstance  which 
at  once  suggested  robbers.  Cadet  pointed  it  out  to  Bigot 
with  the  question :  ,,  

"  Kept  she  much  money.  Bigot  ?  "  ^ 

"  None  that  I  know  of.  She  asked  for  none,  poor  girl  1 
I  gave  her  none,  though  I  would  have  given  her  the  king's 
treasury  had  she  wished  for  it."  -jt,  *.();>   ^a;  ciiv  juh" 

"  But  she  might  have  had  money  when  she  came. 
Bigot,"  continued  Cadet,  not  doubting  but  robbery  had 
been  the  motive  for  the  murder. 

"  It  may  be,  I  never  questioned  her,"  replied  Bigot, 
"  she  spoke  never  of  money  ;  alas  I  all  the  money  in  the 
world  was  as  dross  in  her  estimation.  Other  things  than 
money  occupied  her  pure  thoughts."      i>iij»  a;«  n^m 

"  Well,  it  looks  like  robbers ;  they  have  ransacked  the 
drawers  and  carried  off  all  she  had,  were  it  much  or  little," 
remarked  Cadet,  still  continuing  his  search. 

"But  why  kill  her?  O,  Cadet;  why  kill  the  gentle 
girl  ?  who  would  have  given  every  jewel  in  her  posses- 
sion for  the  bare  asking ! "  y  r  eji .  ^m%mh^^^' 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  guess,"  said  Cadet,  "  it  looks  like  rob 
bers,  but  the  mystery  is  beyond  my  wit  to  explain  ;  what 
are  you  doing.  Bigot  ? " 

Bigot  had  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  Caroline  ;  he  K£t 
ed  her  hand  first  to  his  lips,  then  towards  Cadet,  to  show 
him  the  stalk  of  a  rose  from  which  the  flower  had  been 
broken^  and  which  she  held  with  a  grip  so  hard  that  it 
could  not  be  loosened  from  her  dead  fingers. 

The  two  men  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  it,  but  failed 


** LET'S  TALk  OF  GHAVES;'  ETC. 


$«i 


to  th« 
i  than 
rer  ol 

ok  his 
)t  give 
to  the 
menc," 
hellish 

)f  light 

race  of 
d  open, 
;e  which 
0  Bigot 


Dor  girl  I 
le  king's 

e  came, 
jery  had 

d  Bigot, 
y  in  the 
igs  than 

eked  the 
)r  little," 

e  gentle 
r  posses- 
like  rob 
in ;  what 

;  he  Kft- 
to  show 
lad  been 
,rd  that  it 

but  failed 


to  make  a  conjecture  even,  why  the  flower  had  been  plucked 
from  that  broken  stalk  an^  carried  away,  for  it  was  not  to 
be  seen  in  the  room. 

The  fragment  of  a  letter  lay  u\ider  a  chair.  It  was  a 
part  of  that  which  La  Corriveau  had  torn  up  and  missed 
to  gather  up  age '.,.  with  the  rest.  Cadet  picked  it  up  and 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

The  blood  streaks  upon  her  white  robe  and  the  visi- 
ble stabs  of  a  fine  poinard  riveted  their  attention.  That 
that  was  the  cause  of  her  death  they  doubted  not,  but  the 
mute  eloquence  of  her  wounds  spoke  only  to  the  heart. 
It  gave  no  explanation  to  the  intellect.  The  whole  tragedy 
seemed  wrapped  in  inexplicable  mystery. 

"  They  have  covered  their  track  up  well  I "  remarked 
Cadet.  "  Hey  1  but  what  have  we  here  ? "  Bigot  started 
up  at  the  exclamation.  The  door  of  the  secret  passage 
stood  open.  La  Corriveau  had  not  closed  it  after*  her 
when  making  her  escape.  Here  is  where  the  assassins 
have  found  entrance  and  exit  I  Egad  I  more  people  know 
the  secret  of  your  chateau  than  you  think.  Bigot  I  " 

They  sprang  forward,  and  each  seizing  a  lamp,  the  two 
men  rushed  into  the  narrow  passage.  It  was  dark  and 
still  as  the  catacombs.  No  trace  of  anything  to  the  pur- 
pose could  they  perceive  in  the  vaulted  subterranean  way 
to  the  turret.   Ifivi',  .Jmij  vi  v.J   D^iii^ifihu-i 

They  speedily  came  to  the  other  end,  the  secret  door 
there,  stood  open  also.  They  ascended  the  stairs  in  the 
tower  but  could  see  no  trace  of  the  murderers.  "  It  is 
useless  to  search  farther  for  them  at  this  time,"  remarked 
Cadet,  "  perhaps  not  safe  at  any  time,  but  I  would  give  my 
best  horse  to  lay  hands  on  the  assassins  at  this  moment  1  ' 

Gardener's  tools  lay  round  the  room,  "  Here !  ex- 
claimed Cadet,  is  what  is  equally  germane  tO'  the  matter, 
and  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

He  seized  a  couple  of  spades  and  a  bar  of  iron  and 
bidding  Bigot  go  before  him  with  the  lights,  they  returned 
to  the  chamber  of  de^th. 

"  Now  for  work !  This  sad  business  must  be  done 
well,  and  done  quickly!"  exclaimed  Cadet,  "you  shall 
see  that  I  have  not  forgotten  how  to  dig,  Bigot  I " 

Cadet  threw  off  his  coat,  and  setting  to  work  pulled  up 
the  thick  carpet  from  one  side  of  the  chamber.  The  fioof 
was  covered  with  broad  smooth  flags,  one  of  which  h« 


S" 


THE  cm  EN  ly  OH, 


I  'f 


attacked  with  the  iron  bar,  raised  the  fla^  stone  and  turned 
it  over,  another  easily  followed  and  very  soon  a  space  in 
the  dry  brown  earth  was  exposed,  large  enough  to  make  a 
grave. 

Bigot  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of  dream.  "  I  cannot  do 
it,  Cadet !  I  cannot  diglier  grave  I  "  and  he  threw  down  the 
spade  which  he  had  taken  feebly  in  his  hand. 

"  No  matter.  Bigot !  I  will  do  it  I  indeed  you  would 
only  be  in  my  way.  Sit  down  while  I  dig,  old  friend,  far 
Dieu  I  this  is  nice  work  for  the  Commissary  General  of 
New  France,  with  the  Royal  Intendant  overseeing  him  !  " 

Bigot  sat  down,  and  looked  forlornly  on,  while  Cadet 
with  the  arms  of  a  Hercules,  dug  and  dug,  throwing  out 
the  earth  without  stopping,  for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  until  he  had  made  a  grave  large  and  deep  enough  to 
contain  the  body  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"  That  will  do  !  "  cried  he,  leaping  out  of  the  pit.  **  The 
sexton  of  Charlebourg  could  not  have  made  a  nicer  bed 
to  sleep  in  !  Our  funeral  arrangements  must  be  of  the 
briefest.  Bigot  1  So  come  help  me  to  shroud  this  poor  girl, 
who  I  hope  will  forgive  her  rough  undertaker  for  doing  his 
best  to  make  a  woman  lie  comfortable  in  her  last  bed  !  " 

Cadet  found  a  sheet  of  linen  and  some  fine  blankets 
upon  a  couch  in  the  secret  chamber.  He  spread  them  out 
upon  the  floor,  and  motioned  to  Bigot,  without  speaking. 
The  two  men  lifted  Caroline  tenderly  and  reverently  upon 
the  sheet.  They  gazed  at  her  for  a  minute  in  solemn 
silence,  before  shrouding  her  fair  face,  and  slender  form 
in  their  last  winding  sheet.  Bigot  was  overpowered  with 
his  feelings  yet  strove  to  master  them,  as  he  gulped  down 
the  rising  in  his  throat,  which  at  times  almost  strangled 
him.      -^H-/*-  .afMff-tssi:  ^inu^^i  r^r>i.  --tc.Vi -svr** 


-»*"><„''■ 


Cadet,  eager  to  get  his  painful  task  over,  took  from  the 
slender  finger  of  Caroline,  a  ring,  a  love  gift  of  Bigot,  and 
from  her  neck  a  golden  locket  containing  his  portrait  and 
a  lock  of  his  hair.  A  rosary  hung  at  her  waist, — this  Cadet 
also  detached,  as  a  precious  relic  to  bfe  given  to  the  Intend- 
ant by  and  bye.  There  was  one  thread  of  silk  woven  ipto 
the  coarse  hempen  nature  of  Cadet,     i-iiji  .gi;  .^'v 

Bigot  stooped  down  and  gave  her  pale  lips  and  eyes, 
which  he  had  tenderly  closed,  a  last  despairing  kiss,  before 
veiling  her  face,  with  the  winding  sheet  as  she  lay,  white 
1^  a  snow  drift,  and  as  cold.    They  wrapped  her  softly  in 


*'LErS  TALK  OF  GA'Al'SS,"  RTC. 


%n 


turned 
ace  in 
nake  a 

inot.do 
)wn  the 

would 
d.  Par 
neral  of 
him !  " 
;  Cadet 
ing  out 
er  of  an 
ough  to 

:.    "The 
icer  bed 
5  of  the 
)oor  girl, 
loing  his 
pad ! " 
blankets 
hem  out 
peaking, 
tly  upon 
solemn 
ier  form 
red  with 
led  down 
strangled 

from  the 
igot,  and 
trait  and 
lis  Cadet 
e  Intend- 
>ven  into 

and  eyes, 
is,  before 
ay,  white 
softly  in 


the  blankets  and  without  a  wotd  spoken,  lowered  the  still 
lissom  body  into  its  rude  grave. 

The  awful  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  spasmodic 
sobs  of  Bigot  as  he  leaned  over  the  grave  to  look  his  last 
upon  the  form  of  the  fair  girl  whom  he  had  betrayed  and 
brought  to  this  untimely  end  I  Mea  Culpa  !  Mea  Maxima 
Culpa  I  ^^  said  he,  beating  his  breast.  *'0  Cadet  I  we  are 
burying  her  like  a  dog  !  I  cannot,  I  cannot  do  it ! " 

The  Intendant's  feelings  overcame  him  again,  and  he 
rushed  from  the  chamber,  while  Cadet  glad  of  his  absence 
for  a  few  moments,  hastily  filled  up  the  grave  and  replac- 
ing with  much  care,  the  stone  slabs  over  it,  swept  the 
debris  into  the  passage,  and  spread  the  carpet  again 
smoothly  over  the  floor.  Every  trace  of  the  dreadful  deed 
was  obliterated  in  the  chamber  of  murder. 

The  secret  chamber  looked  again  as  if  nothing  strange 
or  horrible  had  happened  in  it.  Just  so  the  sea,  when 
its  smooth  waters  close  over  a  man  who  sinks  into  its  cold 
bosom.  A  splash,  a  few  circles  of  agitation,  and  all  is  over 
and  out  of  sight  I    >v.ir    .   c   »\*  .    >       .; 

Cadet  acutely  thinking  of  everything  ai  this  supreme 
moment  would  leave  no  ground  of  suspicion  for  Dame 
Tremblay  when  she  came  in  the  morning  to  visit  the  cham- 
ber. She  should  think  that  her  lady  had  gone  away  with 
her  master,  as  mysteriously  as  she  had  come,  and  no 
further  inquiry  would  be  made  after  her.  In  this  Cadet 
was  right.  -\r\   ■'  >     w  'g  /  , 

Buried  in  this  unconsecrated  earth,  with  no  requiem 
sung  for  her  last  repose,  no  prayer,  no  sprinkling  save  the 
tears  which  dropped  heavily  from  the  eyes  of  Bigot,  and 
which,  could  she  have  been  conscious  of,  Caroline  would 
have  prized  more  than  the  water  of  Jordan  poured  over 
her  grave  !  No  bell  tolled  for  her.  There  was  no  chant  of 
priest  or  lifting  of  the  sacrament  for  the  dead,  but  un* 
knelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown  save  to  God  only,  and 
these  two  men,  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  slept  and  still 
sleeps  in  the  dust  of  the  deep  foundations  of  the  Chateau 
of  Beaumanoir. 

It  was  necessary  for  Cadet  and  Bigot  now  to  depart  by' 
the  secret  passage  to  the  tower.    The  deep  toned  bell  of 
the  chateau  struck  three.      Its  solemn  voice  seemed  to' 
bring  with  it  the  cold  shuddering  breath  of  approaching 


morn. 


33 


SM 


TUB.  CHI  EN  lyOK. 


]|  lli 


''We  must  now  be  gone,  Bigot!  aid  instantly !'*  ex 
claimed  Cadet.  "Our  night  work  is  done !  Let  us  se« 
what  day  will  bring  forth  !  you  must  see  to  it  to-morrow, 
Bigot  I  that  no  man  or  woman  alive  ever  again  enter  this 
accursed  chamber  of  death  !  "  , 

Cadet  fastened  the  secret  door  of  the  stair  and  gather- 
ing up  his  spades  and  bar  of  iron  left  the  chamber  with 
Bigot  who  was  passive  as  a  child  in  his  hands.  The 
Intendant  turned  round  and  gave  one  last  sorrowful  look 
at  the  now  darkened  room  as  they  left  it.  Cadet  and  he 
made  their  way  back  to  the  tower.  They  sallied  out  into  the 
open  air  which  blew  fresh  and  reviving  upon  their  fevered 
faces,  after  escaping  from  the  stifling  atmosphere  below. 

They  proceeded  at  once  towards  their  horses  and 
mounted  them,  but  Bigot  felt  deadly  faint  and  halted  under 
a  tree,  while  Cadet  rode  back  to  the  Porter's  lodge,  and 
roused  up  old  Marcele  to  give  him  some  brandy,  if  he  had 
any,  "  as  of  course  he  had,"  said  Cadet.  "  Brandy  was  a 
gate  porter's  inside  livery,  the  lining  of  his  laced  coat 
which  he  always  wore."  Cadet  assumed  a  levity  which  he 
did  not  really  feel. 

Marcele  fortunately  could  oblige  the  Sieur  Cadet.  "  He 
did  line  his  livery  a  little,  but  ligntly,  as  his  honor  would 
see  I "  said  he  bringing  out  a  bottle  of  cognac,  and  a  drink- 
ing cup. 

"  It  is  to  keep  us  from  catching  cold  I  "  continued  Cadet 
in  his  peculiar  way,  " Is  it  good.''  "  He  placed  the  bottle  to 
his  lips  and  tasted  it.  ....... 

Marcele  assured  him  it  was  good  as  gold. 

"  Right !  "  .said  Cadet,  throwing  Marcele  a  Louis  d'or, 
"  I  will  take  the  bottle  to  the  Intendant  to  keep  him  from 
catching  cold,  too<  mind,  Marcele!  you  keep  your  tongue 
still,  or  else — ! "  Cadet  held  up  his  whip,  and  bidding  the 
porter  "  good  night !  "  rejoined  Bigot. 

Cadet  had  a  crafty  design  in  this  proceeding.  lie 
wanted  not  to  tell  Marcele  that  a  lady  was  accompanying 
them  ;  also  not  to  let  him  perceive  tl  at  they  left  Beaumanoir 
without  one.  He  feared  that  the  old  Porter  and  Dame 
Tremblay  might  possibly  compare  notes  together,  and  the 
housekeeper  discover  that  Caroline  had  not  left  Beaumanoir 
with  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  sat  faint  and  listless  in  his  saddle  when  Cadet 
poured  out  a  large  cupful  of  brandy  and  offered  it  to  him, 


"LErs  TALK  OF  GRAVES^  ETC. 


%^l 


He  drank  it  cigerly,  Cadet  then  filled  ind  gu]))cd  down  a 
larfi[e  cupful  himself,  then  gave  another  to  the  Intendant, 
and  poured  another  and  another  for  himself  until  he  said 
he  "  began  to  feel  warm  and  comfortable,  and  got  the  dam- 
nable taste  of  grave  digging  out  of  his  mouth  I  ** 

The  heavy  draught  which  Cadet  forced  the  Intendant 
to  take  relieved  him  somewhat,  but  he  groaned  inwardly 
and  would  not  speak.  Cadet  respected  his  mood,  only 
bidding  him  ride  fast.  They  spurred  their  horses,  and  rode 
swiftly  unobserved  by  any  one,  until  they  entered  the  gates 
of  the  palace  of  the  Intendant. 

The  arrival  of  the  Intendant  or  of  the  Sieur  Cadet  at 
the  Palace  at  any  untimely  hour  of  the  night  excited  no 
remark  whatever,  for  it  was  the  rule,  rather  than  the 
exception  with  them  both. 

Dame  Tremblay  was  not  surprised  next  morning  to 
find  the  chamber  empty  and  her  lady  gone. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  He  is  a  wild  gallant  is 
my  master  I  No  wilder  ever  came  to  Lake  Beauport,  when 
I  was  the  charming  Josephine  and  all  the  world  ran  after 
me  I  But  I  can  keep  a  secret,  and  I  will  I  This  secret  I 
must  keep  at  any  rate  by  the  Intendant's  order  I  and  I 
would  rather  die  than  be  railed  at  by  that  fierce  Sieur 
Cadet !  I  will  keep  the  Intendant's  secret  1  safe  as  my 
teeth  which  he  praised  so  handsomely  and  so  justly  I  " 

And  she  did  keep  it  until  years  after  the  conquest  of 
Canada  v  .ion  Bigot  was  atoning  in  the  Bastile  for  high 
misdemeanors  and  maladministration  as  Intendant  of  New 
France.  Then  did  a  garrulous  old  woman  use  to  babble 
before  her  death  about  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport,  and  tell  what  she  knew — not  much  after  all— 
of  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  lady,  who  had  either  been 
spirited  away  or  buried  alive  in  the  secret  chamber  of 
Beaumanoir. 

The  fact  that  Caroline  never  returned  to  the  chiteau, 
and  that  the  search  for  her  was  so  long  and  so  vainly  car- 
ried on  by  La  Corne  St  Luc  and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin, 
caused  the  Dame  to  suspect  at  last  that  some  foul  play 
had  been  perpetrated,  but  she  dared  not  speak  openly. 

The  old  woman's  suspicions  grew  with  age  into  cer- 
tainties, when  at  last  she  chanced  to  talk  with  her  old  fel- 
low servant,  Marcele,  the  gate-keeper,  and  learned  from 
him  that  Bigot  and  Cadet  had  left  the  chiteau  alone  on 


THE  CtilEN  jyOR. 


:|^'    < 


that  fatal  night.  Dame  Tremblay  was  more  perplexed 
than  ever.  She  talked,  she  knew  not  what,  but  her  talk 
passed  into  the  traditions  of  the  Habitans. 

It  became  a  popular  belief  that  a  beautiful  woman,  the 
mistress  of  the  powerful  Intendant  Bigot,  had  been  mur 
dered  and  buried  in  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir.     li  i 
■'/y  t      The  secret  chamber  was,  immediately  after  the  tragedy, 
disfurnished  and  shut  up  by  order  of  the  Intendant.    Dame 
Tremblay  sedulously  avoided  it ;  she  believed  it  haunted. 

It  was  never  visited,  save  by  Bigot,  who,  in  his  after 
career  of  praetorian  riot  and  extravagance,  sometimes  broke 
off  from  his  companions  in  the  height  of  their  revelry,  rode 
out  to  Beaumanoir,  and  descending  to  the  gloomy  chamber, 
flung  himself  despairingly  upon  the  cold  stone  that  he  had 
sculptured  with  the  solitary  letter  C,  which  covered  the 
dust  of  the  one  woman  who  had  ever  loved  Fran9ois  Bigot 
for  his  own  sake.  The  only  one  who,  had  she  been  spared, 
might  by  her  sweet  influences  have  made  a  better  and  a 
.  nobler  man  of  him,  and,  who  knows  ?  might  have  checked 
his  career  of  extravagance  and  corruption,  and  turned  his 
undoubted  talents  to  the  benefit  instead  of  to  the  ruin  of 
New  France  I  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  had  she  lived,  might 
have  averted  the  conquest  of  the  Colony,  which  was  mainly 
lost  through  the  misgovernment  of  Bigot,  and  his  waste  of 
all  the  public  resources  that  should  have  contributed  to  the 
defence  of  New  France.  But  it  was  not  to  be  !  No  other 
influence  for  good  remained  after  the  death  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Caroline. 

The  storms  of  six  score  winters  have  howled  among  the 
ruins  of  Beaumanoir,  of  ch&teau  Bigot,  as  it  is  now  popu- 
larly called  by  the  habitans,  who  still  look  upon  its  crumb- 
ling walls  with  feelings  of  awe — as  a  place  accursed  in  the 
history  of  their  country. 

All  has  gone  to  ruin.  The  chateau  itself  is  a  pile  of 
destruction.  Its  very  stones  have  been  carted  away  by  the 
peasantry,  save  a  few  stern  old  gables  that  still  brave  the 
elements,  and  its  thick  massive  foundations  that  still  pre- 
serve an  outline  of  the  great  wicked  edifice.  The  secret 
chamber  itself  lies  uncovered  to  the  sun.  God's  light  streams 
upon  it.  Green  grass  and  wild  flowers  tangle  among  its  stone 
heaps !  the  bird  builds  its  nest,  and  the  hare  makes  its  form 
and  rears  its  young  above  the  grave  of  Caroline,  now  lost 
under  a  mass  of  debris  and  ruin. 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS, 


5^7 


*  Old  grey  men,  still  living,  remember  a  period  before  the 
final  dilapidation  of  the  chateau,  when  daring  visitors 
who  ventured  down  into  the  deep  vaults  could  still  see  the 
solitary  tombstone  with  its  one  mysterious  initial,  the  letter 
C,  carved  upon  it,  all  that  was  left  upon  earth  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Caroline  d* 
St.  Castin. 


.1 


-'l.- 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


;  i . !     ■  SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS,  - 

IT  was  long  before  Ang^lique  came  to  herself  from  the 
swoon  in  which  she  had  been  left  lying  on  the  floor  by 
La  Corriveau.  Fortunately  for  her  it  was  without  dis- 
covery. None  of  the  servants  happened  to  come  to  her 
room  during  its  continuance,  else  a  weakness  so  strange  to 
her  usual  hardihood  would  have  become  the  city's  talk  be- 
fore night,  and  set  all  its  idle  tongues  conjecturing  or  in- 
venting a  reason  for  it.  It  would  have  reached  the  ears  of 
Bigot  as  every  spray  of  gossip  did,  and  set  him  thinking, 
too,  more  savagely  than  he  was  yet  doing,  as  to  the  causes 
and  occasions  of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  palace.  Bigot  had  scarcely 
spoken  a  word  to  Cadet.  His  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of  the 
wildest  conjectures,  and  his  thoughts  ran  to  and  fro  like 
hounds  in  a  thick  brake  darting  in  every  direction  to  find 
the  scent  of  the  game  they  were  in  search  of.  When  they 
reached  the  Palace,  Bigot,  without  speaking  to  any  one, 
passed  through  the  ante-rooms  to  his  own  apartment,  and 
threw  himself,  dressed  and  booted  as  he  was,  upon  a  couch, 
where  he  lay  like  a  man  stricken  down  by  a  mace  from  some 
unseen  hand. 

Cadet  had  coarser  ways  of  relieving  himself  from  the  late 
unusual  strain  upon  his  rough  feelings.  He  went  down  to 
the  billiard  room,  and  joining  recklessly  in  the  game  that 
was  still  kept  up  by  De  Pean,  Le  Gardeur,  and  a  number  of 
wild  associates,  strove  to  drown  all  recollections  of  the  past 
night  at  Beaumanoir  by  drinking  and  gambling  with  mort 
than  usual  violence  until  far  on  in  the  day.  ?  -  »  »' 


t  ,i 


s«« 


THE  C/flEiV  D'OR. 


S'X. 


;  1 1 


Bigot  neither  slept  nor  wished  to  sleep.  The  image  o! 
the  murdered  girl  lying  in  her  rude  grave  was  ever  before 
him,  with  a  vividness  so  terrible  that  it  seemed  he  could 
never  sleep  again.  His  thoughts  ran  round  and  round 
like  a  millwheel,  without  advancing  a  step  towards  a  so 
iution  of  the  mystery  of  her  death. 

He  summoned  up  his  recollections  of  every  man  an<* 
woman  he  knew  in  the  colony,  and  asked  himself  regarding 
each  one,  the  question,  "  Is  it  he  who  has  done  this  ?  Is  b 
she  who  has  prompted  it  ?  and  who  could  have  had  a  motive 
and  who  not,  to  perpetrate  such  a  bloody  deed  ? " 

One  image  came  again  and  again  before  his  mind's  eye 
as  he  reviewed  the  list  of  his  friends  and  enemies.  The 
figure  of  Ang^lique  appeared  and  reappeared,  intruding 
itself  between  every  third  or  fourth  personage  which  his 
memory  called  up,  until  his  thoughts  fixed  upon  her  with 
the  maddening  inquiry,  "  Could  Ang^lique  des  Meloises 
have  been  guilty  of  this  terrible  deed  ? " 

He  remembered  her  passionate  denunciation  of  the 
Lady  of  Beaumanoir,  her  fierce  demand  for  her  banishment 
by  a  /e//re  de  cachet.  He  knew  her  ambition  and  reckless- 
ness, but  still,  versed  as  he  was  in  all  the  ways  of  wicked- 
ness, and  knowing  the  inexorable  bitterness  of  envy,  and 
the  cruelty  of  jealousy  in  the  female  breast — at  least  in  such 
women  as  he  had  for  the  most  part  had  experience  of — 
Bigot  could  hardly  admit  the  thought  that  one  so  fair  as 
Angelique,  one  who  held  him  in  a  golden  net  of  fascination, 
and  to  whom  he  had  been  more  than  once  on  the  point  of 
yielding,  could  have  committed  so  great  a  crime. 

He  struggled  with  his  thoughts  like  a  man  amid  tossing 
waves,  groping  about  in  the  dark  for  a  plank  to  float  upon, 
but  could  find  none.  Still,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  spite  of 
his  violent  asseverations  that  "  it  was  impossible;"  in  spite 
of  Cadet's  plausible  theory  of  robbers — which  Bigot  at 
first  seized  upon  as  the  likeliest  explanation  of  the  mystery 
■ — the  thought  of  Angdlique  ever  returned  back  upon  him 
like  a  fresh  accusation. 

He  was  deeply  moved,  and  at  last  almost  alarmed  at  the 
persistence  with  which  the  reflection  of  her  face  went  ahd 
came,  now  far,  now  near,  like  the  phantasm  of  a  magic 
lantern,  that  haunted  his  most  secret  thoughts. 

He  could  not  accuse  het  yet,  though  something  told 
him  he  might  have  to  do  so  at  last.     He  grew  angry  at  th€ 


'*^n 


SILK  CLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HA.VDS, 


S"9 


ever  recuiring  thought  of  her,  ai?d  turning  his  face  to  the 
wall,  like  a  man  trying  to  shut  out  the  light,  resolved  to 
force  disbelief  in  her  guilt  until  clearer  testimony  than  his 
own  suspicions  should  convict  her  of  the  death  of  Caroline. 
And  yet  in  his  secret  soul  he  dreaded  a  discovery  that  might 
turn  out  as  he  feared.  But  he  pusiied  the  black  thoughts 
aside  ;  he  would  wait  and  watch  for  what  he  feared  to  find. 

The  fact  of  Caroline's  concealment  at  Beaumanoir,  and 
her  murder  at  the  very  moment  when  the  search  was  about 
to  be  made  for  her,  placed  Bigot  in  the  cruellest  dilemma. 
Whatever  his  suspicions  might  be,  he  dared  not,  by  word  or 
sign,  avov/  any  knowledge  of  Caroline's  presence,  still  less 
of  her  mysterious  murder  in  his  chateau.  Her  grave  had 
been  dug  ;  she  had  been  secretly  buried  out  of  human  sight, 
and  he  was  under  bonds  as  for  his  very  life  never  to  let  the 
dreadful  mystery  be  discovered  ! 

So  Bigot  lay  on  his  couch,  for  once,  a  weak  and  a  fright- 
ened man,  registering  vain  vows  of  vengeance  against  per- 
sons unknown,  vows  which  he  knew  at  the  moment  were 
empty  as  bubbles,  because  he  dared  not  move  hand  or 
foot  in  the  matter  to  carry  them  out,  or  make  open  accusa- 
tion against  any  one  of  the  foul  crime.  What  thoughts 
came  to  Bigot's  subtle  mind  were  best  known  to  himself, 
but  something  was  suggested  by  the  mocking  Devil,  who 
was  never  far  from  him,  and  he  caught  and  held  fast  the 
wicked  suggestion  with  a  bitter  laugh,  He  then  grew  sud- 
denly still  and  said  to  himself,  "  I  will  sleep  on  it !  "  and 
pillowing  his  head  quietly,  not  \\\  sleep,  but  in  thoughts 
deeper  than  sleep,  he  lay  till  day. 

Ang^lique,  who  had  never  in  her  life,  swooned  before, 
felt,  when  she  awoke,  like  one  returning  to  life  from  death. 
She  opened  her  eyes  wondering  where  she  was,  and  half 
remembering  the  things  she  had  heard  as  things  she  had 
Seen — looked  anxiously  around  the  table  for  La  Corriveau. 
She  rose  up  with  a  start  when  she  saw  she  was  gone,  for 
Angdlique  recollected  suddenly  that  La  Corriveau  now  held 
the  terrible  secret  which  concerned  her  life  and  peace  for 
evermore.       ^  .,  •     ^^m^.. 

The  thing  she  had  so  long  wished  for  and  prayed  for, 
was  at  last  done  !  Her  rival  was  out  of  the  way  !  But  she 
also  felt  that  if  the  murder  was  discovered  her  own  life  was 
forfeit  to  the  law,  and  the  secret  was  in  the  keeping  of  the 
vilest  of  women.'' 


I 


5«o 


THE  C//JEA-  D'OR, 


.  V 


'!   1 


'  :  * 


A  mountain,  not  of  remorse,  but  of  apprehension,  over 
whelmed  iier  for  a  time.  But  Angdlique's  mind  was  to« 
intensely  selfish,  hard  and  superficial,  to  give  way  to  the 
remorse  of  a  deeper  nature.  Her  feelings,  such  as  thej 
were,  played  like  flame  on  the  surface  of  her  heart,  but 
never  warmed  it  to  the  core.      She  was  incapable  of  real 


remorse,  and  would 


regard  the 


world  well  lost  for  sake  ol 


hen  'f.  Her  nature  was  too  artificial  to  take  the  tragedy 
very  deeply  to  heart.  No  furies  would  sit  on  her  pillow 
accusing  her  of  midnight  murder ;  and  she  would  go 
through  life  forgetting,  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  brilliant 
career,  the  bloody  episode  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

Still  the  tidings  of  Caroline's  death  gave  her  a  shock. 
It  was  her  first  plunge  into  positive  crime,  and  she  trem- 
bled for  the  consequtiices.  She  who  had  never  shunned 
man  or  woman  before,  felt  like  hiding  herself  now  1 

She  was  angry  at  her  own  cowardice,  but  she  feared  the 
suspicions  of  Bigot.  There  was  ever  something  in  his 
dark  nature  which  she  could  not  fathom,  and  deep  and 
crafty  as  she  knew  herself  to  be,  she  feared  thai;  he  was 
more  deep  and  more  crafty  than  herself. 

What  if  he  should  discover  her  hand  in  this  bloody 
business  "i  The  thought  drove  her  frantic,  until  she  fancied 
she  repented  of  the  deed.  But  it  was  self-delusion,  she 
did  not  repent,  she  only  feared  punishment  for  herself. 
Then  she  tried  to  pray,  but  prayer  stuck  in  her  throat,  and 
then  she  cursed  her  folly,  not  her  cruelty  ;  she  was  too 
hard-hearted  for  that.  Her  words  came  in  a  flow  of  in- 
vective against  Bigot  for  not  removing  Caroline  from  Beau- 
manoir,  and  against  Caroline  for  having  come  there  at  all. 
She  cursed  La  Corriveau  for  shaping  the  evil  desires  of  her 
heart  into  instruments  of  murder — the  poison  and  the  dag- 
ger— and  she  cursed  herself  for  paying  so  terrible  a  price 
for  the  bare  possibility,  not  the  certainty,  of  becoming  the 
wife  of  Bigot. 

Had  it  brought  a  certainty,  this  crime,  then — -why  then 
— she  had  found  a  compensation  for  the  risk  she  was  run 
ning,  for  the  pain  s!ie  was  enduring,  which  she  tried  to  be- 
lieve was  regret  and  pity  for  her  victim.  Her  anxiety  re 
doubled  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  Bigot,  remembering 
her  passionate  appeals  to  him  foi  the  removal  of  Caroline, 
might  suspect  her  of  the  murder  as  the  one  alone  having 
a  palpable  interest  in  it. 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


Sai 


**  But  Bigot  shall  never  l^elieve  it  even  if  he  suspect  it  I " 
exclaimed  she  at  last,  shaking  off  her  fears — "  I  have  made 
fools  of  many  men  for  my  pleasure — I  can  surely  blind  one 
lor  my  safety — and  after  all,  whose  fault  is  it  but  Bigot's? 
He  would  not  grant  me  the  lettre  de  cachet^  nor  keep  his 
proml??^  for  her  removal !  He  even  gave  me  her  life  I  but 
ho  lied  I  He  did  not  mean  it !  He  loved  her  too  well  and 
meant  to  deceive  me,  and  marry  her,  and  /  have  deceived 
him  and  shall  marry  him,  that  is  all  !  and  Angelique 
laughed  a  hysterical  laugh,  such  as  Dives  in  his  torments 
may  sometimes  give  way  to. 

"LaCorriveau  has  betrayed  her  trust  in  one  terrible 
point,"  continued  she — "  she  promised  a  death  so  easy, 
that  all  men  would  say  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  died 
of  heart  break  only,  or  by  God's  visitation  !  a  natural  death  I 
The  foul  witch  has  used  her  stiletto  and  made  a  murder  of 
that  which  without  it  had  been  none!  Bigot  will  know 
it,  must  know  it  even  if  he  dare  not  reveal  it !  for  how  in 
the  name  of  all  the  saints  is  it  to  be  concealed  ?  "  ' '^«'« 

'  "  But  my  God  1  this  will  never  do !  "  continued  she  start- 
ing up,  "  I  look  like  very  guilt  I "  She  stared  fiercely  in  the 
mirror  at  her  hollow  eyes,  pale  cheeks  and  white  lips.  She 
scarcely  recognized  herself.  Her  bloom  and  brightness 
had  vanished  for  the  time. 

"  What  if  I  have  inhaled  some  of  the  poisoned  odor  of 
those  cursed  roses  ? "  thought  she,  shuddering  at  the  suppo- 
sition— but  she  reassured  herself  that  it  could  not  be, 
"  Still  my  looks' condemn  me  !  The  pale  face  of  that  dead 
girl  is  looking  at  me  out  of  mine  !  Bigot  if  he  sees  me 
will  not  fail  to  read  the  secret  in  my  looks. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock — the  morning  was  far 
advanced  towards  noon — visitors  might  soon  arrive — 
Bigot  himself  might  come — she  dare  not  deny  herself  to 
him.  She  would  deny  herself  to  no  one  to-day  I  She  would 
go  everywhere  and  see  every  body — and  show  the  world  if 
^alk  of  It  should  arise,  that  she  was  wholly  innocent  of  that 
gill's  blood  I 

She  would  wear  her  brightest  looks — her  gayest  robe — 
her  hat  and  feathers  the  newest  from  Paris.  She  would 
ride  out  into  the  city — go  to  the  Cathedral — show  herself 
to  all  her  friends,  and  make  every  one  say  or  think  that 
Angelique  des  Meloises  had  not  a  care  or  trouble  in  the 
world  1 


■■<  *» 


:A'-^ 


i 


533 


THE  C///EN  DOR. 


She  rang  for  Fanchon,  impatient  to  commence  hei 
toilette,  for  when  dressed  she  knew  that  she  would  feci 
like  herself  once  more,  cool  and  defiant.  The  touch  of  her 
armor  of  fashionable  attire  would  restore  her  confidence 
in  herself,  and  enable  her  to  brave  down  any  suspicion  in 
Ihe  mind  of  the  Intendant — at  any  rate  it  was  her  only 
lesource,  and  Angelique  was  not  one  to  give  up  even  a 
lost  battle — let  alone  one  half  gained,  through  the  death  of 
her  nVa'  — 

a'  chon  came  in  haste  at  the  su'unions  of  her  mistress. 
She  had  long  waited  to  hear  the  bell — and  began  to  fear 
she  was  sick  or  in  one  of  those  wild  moods  which  had 
come  over  her  occasionally  since  the  night  of  her  last  in- 
terview with  Le  Gardeur. 

The  girl  started  at  sight  of  the  pale  face  and  paler  lips 
of  her  mistress.  She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise-— 
but  Angelique  anticipating  all  questions,  told  her,  "she 
was  unwell,  but  would  dress  and  take  a  ride  out  in  the 
fresh  air  and  sunshine  to  recruit."    '?ru.'  ■:vm  \  5  t  -?5^<i^n  /xi 

"  But  had  you  not  better  see  the  Physician,  my  Lady  ? 
—you  do  look  so  pale  to-day,  you  are  really  not  well ! " 

"No,  but  I  will  ride  out,"  and,  she  added  in  her  old 
way,  "perhaps  Fanchon,  I  may  meet  some  one  who  will  be 
better  company  than  the  Physician  ?  Q^ui  sait  ?  "  and  she 
laughed  with  an  appearance  of  gaiety  which  she  was  far 
from  feeling,  and  which  only  half  imposed  on  the  quick- 
witted maid  who  waited  upon  her. 

"  Where  is  your  aunt,  Fanchon  ?  When  did  you  see 
Dame  Dodier  ?  "  asked  she,  really  anxious  to  learn  what 
had  become  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  She  returned  home  this  morning,  my  Lady !  I  had  not 
seen  her  for  days  before ;  but  supposed  she  had  already 
gone  back  to  St.  Valier — but  Aunt  Dodier  is  a  strange 
woman,  and  tells  no  one  her  business." 

"  She  has  perhaps  other  lost  jewels  to  look  aftei  besides 
mine  " — replied  Angelique  mechanically,  yet  feeling  easier 
upon  learning  the  departure  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Perhaps  so,  my  Lady.  I  am  glad  she  is  gone  home, 
I  shall  never  wish  to  see  her  again."    '-V-\\  t^.i  i^  ;    ;;  w 

"  Why  ?  " — asked  Angelique,  sharply — ^wondering  il 
Fanchon  had  conjectured  anything  of  her  aunt's  business. 

"  They  s.ay  she  has  dealings  with  that  horrid  Merc 
Malheur,  and  I  believe  it? "  replied  Fanchon,  with  a  shrug 
of  disgust 


StLK  GLOViiS  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


S«3 


U  "  Ah  !  do  you  think  Mere  Malheur  knows  her  busineu 
or  any  of  your  aunt's  sec  rets,  Fanchon  ?  "  asked  Ang<$lique, 
thoroughly  roused. 

"  I  think  she  does  my  Lady — you  cannot  live  in  a 
chimney  with  another,  without  both  getting  black  alike, 
and  M^re  Malheur  is  a  black  witch  as  sure  as  my  aunt  is  % 
white  one,"  was  Fanchon's  reply. 

"What  said  your  aunt  on  leaving?"  asked  Ir^r  mis* 
tress — 

**  I  did  not  see  her  leave,  my  Lady,  I  only  learned  from 
Ambroise  Gariepy  that  she  had  crossed  the  river  this  morn- 
ing, to  return  to  St.  Valier." 

"  And  who  is  Ambroise  Gariepy,  Fanchon  ?  You  have 
a  wide  circle  of  acquaintance  for  a  young  girl,  I  think  !  " 
Ang^lique  knew  the  dangers  of  gossipping  too  well,  not  to 
fear  Fanchon's  imprudences. 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon  with  affected  sim- 
plicity, "  Ambroise  Gariepy  keeps  the  Lion  Vert  and  the 
Ferry  upon  the  South  Shore — he  brings  me  news  and 
sometimes  a  little  present  from  th?;  pack  of  the  Basque 
peddlers — He  brought  me  this  comb,  my  Lady  I  "  Fanchon 
turned  her  head  to  show  her  mistress  a  superb  comb  in 
her  th'  ':  black  hair,  and  in  her  delight  of  talking  of 
Ambr^^ise  Gariepy,  the  little  Inn  of  the  Ferry  and  the 
cross  that  leaned  like  a  failing  memory  over  the  grave  of 
his  former  wife — Fanchon  quite  forgot  to  ease  her  mind 
further  on  the  subject  of  La  Corriveau,  nor  did  Ang^lique 
resume  the  dangerous  topic. 

Fanchon's  easy  shallow  way  of  talking  of  her  lover, 
touched  a  sympathetic  chord  in  the  breast  of  her  mistress. 
Grand  passions  were  grand  follies  in  AngtSlique's  estima- 
tion, which  she  was  less  capable  of  appreciating  than  even 
her  maid;  but  flirtation  and  coquetry,  skin  deep  only,  she 
could  understand  and  relished  beyond  all  other  enjoy- 
ments. It  was  just  now  like  medicine  to  her  racking 
thoughts  to  listen  to  Fanchon's  shallow  gossip. 

"  She  had  done  v/hat  she  had  done,"  she  reflected,  "  and 
it  could  not  be  un  ione !  why  should  she  give  way  to 
regret,  and  lose  the  prize  for  which  she  had  staked  so 
heavily  ?  She  would  not  do  it !  No,  Par  Dieii  /  She  had 
thrown  Le  Gardeur  to  the  fishes  for  sake  of  the  Intendant, 
and  had  done  that  other  deed  !  She  shied  off  from  the 
thought  of  it  as  fronr  an  uncouth  thing  in  the  dark,  and 


$«4 


THE  a/mx  lyoR. 


b^an  to  feel  shame  of  her  weakness  at  having  fainted  at 
the  talc  of  La  Corrlveau. 

The  light  talk  of  Fanchon  while  dressing  the  long  golden 
hair  of  her  mistress  and  assisting  her  to  put  on  a  new 
riding  dress  and  the  plumed  hat  fresh  frcin  Paris^  which 
she  had  not  yet  displayed  in  public,  did  much  to  restore 
her  equanimity. 

Her  face  had,  however,  not  recovered  from  its  strange 
pallor.  Her  eager  maid  anxious  for  the  looks  of  her 
mistress,  insisted  on  a  little  rouge,,  which  Angelique's 
natural  bloom  had  never  before  needed.  She  submitted, 
*'  for  she  intended  to  look  her  best  to-day,"  she  said,  "  who 
knows  whom  I  shall  fall  in  with  ? " 

"  That  is  right,  my  Lady,"  exclaimed  Fanchon  admir- 
ingly, "  no  one  could  be  dressed  perfectly  as  you  are  and 
be  sick  !  I  pity  the  gentlemen  you  meet  to-day,  that  is  all  I 
There  is  murder  in  your  eye,  my  Lady  I     «i    wm  .;  ;>  y  ' 

Poor  Fanchon  believed  she  was  only  complimenting 
her  mistress,  and  at  other  times  her  remark  would  only 
have  called  forth  a  joyous  laugh,  nov/  the  word  seemed  like 
a  sharp  knife,  it  cut,  and«  Ang^lique  did  not  laugh.  She 
pushed  her  maid  forcibly  away  from  her,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out  into  some  violent  exclamation,  when 
recalled  by  the  amazed  look  of  Fanchon — she  turned  the 
subject  adroitly,  and  asked — "  where  is  my  brother  ?  " 

*'  Gone  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  to  the  Palace,  my 
Lady  ! "  replied  Fanchon,  trembling  all  over  and  wondering 
how  she  had  angered  her  mistress. 

"  Ht  know  you  that,  Fanchon  ?  "  asked  Ang^lique, 
recovering  her  usual  careless  tone. 

"  I  overheard  them  speaking  together,  my  Lady.  The 
Chevalier  de  Pean  said  that  the  Intendant  was  sick,  and 
would  see  no  one  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  what  then  ? "  Ang^lique  was  struck  with  a 
sudden  consciousness  of  danger  in  the  wind.  "  Are  you  sure 
they  said  the  Intendant  was  sick  ?"  asked  she. 

*'  Yes  !  my  Lady,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  said  that 
he  was  less  sick  than  mad,  and  out  of  humor  to  a  degree 
he  had  never  seen  him  before  I " 

"  Did  they  give  a  reason  for  it  1  that  is  for  the  Intetid- 
ant's  sickness  or  madi  ess  ?  "  Angelique's  eyes  were  fixed 
keenly  upon  her  maid,  to  draw  out  a  full  confession.     !•'• 

"  None,  my  Lady  I  only  the  Chevalier  des  Meloii^es  said 


SILK  GLOr£S  oyHK  BLOODY  HANDS, 


5»S 


he  supposed  It  was  the  news  from  France  which  sat  so  ill 
on  his  stomach." 

"  And  what  then,  Fanchon  ?  you  are  so  Iciig  of  answer 
ing  I "  Angdiique  stamped  her  foot  with  impatience. 

Fanchon  looked  up  at  the  reproof  so  little  merited,  and 
replied  quickly — "the  Chevalier  dc  Pean  said,  it  must  be 
that  for  he  knew  of  nothing  else.  The  gentlemen  then 
went  out  and  I  heard  no  more." 

Angdiique  was  relieved  by  this  turn  of  conversation. 
She  felt  certain  that  if  Bigot  discovered  the  murder  he 
would  not  fail  to  reveal  it  to  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  who 
was  understood  to  be  the  depositary  of  all  his  secrets.  She 
began  to  cheer  up  under  the  belief  that  Bigot  would  never 
dare  accuse  anyone,  of  a  deed  which  would  be  the  means 
of  proclaiming  his  own  fiilsencHs  and  duplicity  towards 
the  King  and  the  Marquise  de  Punvpadour. 

"  I  have  only  to  deny  all  knowluilgc  of  it,"  said  she  to 
herself,  "  swear  to  it  if  need  be  I  and  Bigot  will  not  dare 
to  go  farther  in  the  matter.  Then  will  come  my  time  to 
turn  the  tables  upon  him,  in  a  way  he  little  expects  1 
Pshaw !  "  continued  she,  glancing  at  her  gay  hat  in  the 
mirror,  and  with  her  own  dainty  fingers  setting  the  feather 
more  airily  to  her  liking.  "  Bigot  is  bound  fast  enough  to 
me  now,  that  she  is  gone  1  and  when  he  discovers  that  I 
hold  his  secret  he  will  not  dare  meddle  with  mine." 

It  is  recorded  that  the  Athenians  ignorantly  worshipped 
the  true  Deity,  under  the  name  of  the  unknown  God. 
Angelique  like  many  in  modern  times  worshipped  heathen 
deities,  in  the  name  of  the  true.  The  Goddess  ignorantly 
worshipped  by  Angelique,  and  who  received  the  first 
offerings  of  her  heart,  was  Venus  Victrix,  in  the  form  of 
herself,  and  no  woman  of  Greece  or  Rome  was  ever  more 
devout  in  the  homage  she  paid  to  the  heathen  shrine. 

Angdiique,  measureably  reassured  and  hopeful  of  suc- 
cess in  her  desperate  venture,  descended  the  steps  of  her 
mansion,  and  gathering  up  her  robes,  daintily,  mounted  her 
horse,  which  had  long  been  chafing  in  the  hands  of  her 
groom  waiting  for  his  mistress.  ■'''"■ 

She  bade  the  man  remain  at  home  until  her  return,  and 
dashed  off  down  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  drawing  after  her  a 
hundred  eyes  of  admiration  and  envy. 

"She  would  ride  down  to  the  Place  d'A^mes^^  siic 
thought,  where  she  knew  that  before  she  had  sk  rted  the 


I 


IWl 


M 


I  u 


p6  rA^£  C^/iTA^  D'O/f. 

length  of  the  Castle  wall,  half  a  dozen  gallants  would  greet 
her  with  offers  of  escort,  and  drop  any  business  they  had 
in  hand  for  the  sake  of  a  gallop  by  her  side. 

She  had  scarcely  passed  the  monastery  of  the  Recollets 
when  she  was  espied  by  the  Sieur  La  Force,  who  too,  was 
as  quickly  discovered  by  her,  as  he  loitered  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  St.  Ann,  to  catch  sight  of  any  fair  piece  of  mis- 
chief that  might  be  abroad  that  day  from  her  classes,  in  the 
convent  of  the  Ursulines. 

"  Angelique  is  as  fair  a  prize  as  any  of  them,"  thought 
La  Force,  as  he  saluted  her  with  Parisian  politeness,  and 
with  a  request  to  be  her  escort  in  her  ride  through  the 
city.  jiH  J 

**  My  horse  it  at  hand,  and  I  shall  esteem  it  such  an 
honor,"  said  La  Force,  smiling,  "  and  such  a  profit,  too," 
added  he  ;  "  my  credit  is  low  in  a  certain  quarter ;  you 
know  where !  "  and  he  laughingly  pointed  towards  the  con- 
vent. "  I  desire  to  make  /ler  jealous,  for  she  has  made  me 
madly  so,  and  no  one  can  aid  in  an  enterprise  of  that  kind 
better  than  yourself.  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  !"      .-. 

"Or  more  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force!"  replied  she, 
laughing.    "But  you  overrate  my  powers,  I  fear." 

"  O,  by  no  means,"  replied  La  Force  ;  "  there  is  not  a 
lady  in  Quebec  but  feels  in  her  heart  that  Angdlique  des 
Meloises  can  steal  away  her  lover  when  and  where  she 
will.  She  has  only  to  look  at  him  across  the  street,  and 
presto  1  change !  he  is  gone  from  her  as  if  by  magic. 
But  will  you  really  help  me.  Mademoiselle  ? " 

"  Most  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force — ^for  your  profit  if  not 
for  your  honour!  I  am  just  in  the  humour  for  tormenting 
somebody  this  morning  ;  so  get  your  horse  and  let  us  be 
off  1 "  '.i-'^ri^'f^ ■■^'fi  evfr  ,'* 

Before  La  Force  had  mounted  his  horse,  a  number  of 
gayly-dressed  young  ladies  came  in  sight,  full  sail  down 
the  Rue  St.  Anne — like  a  fleet  of  rakish  little  yachts,  bear- 
uig  down  upon  Angelique  and  her  companion. 

"  Shall  we  wait  for  them,  La  Force  ? "  asked  she.  "  They 
are  from  the  Convent ! "  ^  y^i^Hii  ^M  i^*^  ii^ftv/        ^ 

*'  Yes,  and  s/te  is  there,  to;^  I  The  news  will  be  all  over 
the  city  in  an  hour  that  I  am  r;ding  with  you  I  "  exclaimed 
La  Force,  in  a  tone  of  intense  Sc^tisf action. 

Five  girls  just  verging  on  womanhood,  perfect  in  manner 
and  appearance — as  the  Ursulines  knew  well  how  to  train 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


S«7 


the  young  olive  plants  of  the  colony — walked  on  demurely 
enough,  lookinp:  apparently  straight  forward,  but  casting  side 
glances  from  under  their  veils,  which  raked  the  Sieur  La 
x'orce  and  Anj^olique  with  a  searching  fire,  that  nothing 
could  withstand,  La  Force  said  ;  but  which  Angeiique  re- 
marked, was  simply  "  impudence,  such  as  could  only  be 
found  in  convent  girls  1 " 

•  They  came  nearer.  Angeiique  might  have  supposed 
they  were  going  to  pass  by  them  had  she  not  known  too 
well  their  sly  ways.  The  foremost  of  the  five,  Louise  Roy, 
whose  glorious  hair  was  the  boast  of  the  city,  suddenly 
threw  back  her  veil  and  disclosing  a  charming  face,  dimpled 
with  smiles  and  with  a  thousand  mischiefs  lurking  in  her 
bright  grey  eyes — sprang  towards  Angeiique,  while  her 
companions — all  Louises  of  the  famous  class  oif  that  name 
— also  threw  up  their  veils,  and  stood  saluting  Angeiique 
and  La  Force  with  infinite  merriment. 

Louise  Roy,  quizzing  La  Force  through  a  c>/quettish 
eye-glass  which  she  wore  on  a  ribbon  round  her  pretty 
neck,  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him  before,  motioned  to 
him  in  a  queenly  way  as  she  raised  her  dainty  foot,  giving 
him  a  severe  look — or  what  tried  to  be  such,  but  was*in 
truth  an  absurd  failure. 

He  instantly  comprehended  her  command,  for  such  it 
was,  and  held  out  his  hand,  upon  which  she  stepped  lightly, 
and  sprang  up  to  Angeiique,  embracing  and  kissing  her 
with  such  cordiality,  that  if  it  were  not  real,  the  acting  was 
perfect.  At  the  same  time  Louise  Roy  made  her  under- 
stand that  she  was  not  the  only  one  who  could  avail  her- 
self of  the  gallant  attentions  of  the  Sieur  La  Force. 

In  truth  Louise  Roy  was  somewhat  piqued  at  the  Sieur 
La  Force,  and .  to  punisli  him  made  herself  as  heavy  as 
her  slight  figure  would  admit  of.  She  stood  perched  up 
as  long  as  she  could — and  actually  enjoyed  the  tremor 
which  she  felt  plainly  enough  in  his  hand  as  he  continued 
to  support  her,  and  was  quite  disposed  to  test  how  long  he 
could  or  would  hold  her  up,  while  she  conversed  in  whis- 
pers with  Angeiique. 

"  Angeiique !  "  said  she,  "  they  say  in  the  Convent  that 
you  are  to  marry  th%Intendant.     Your  old  mistress,  Mfere 
St.  Louis  is  crazy  with  delight.     She  says  she  always  pre- 
dicted you  would  make  a  great  match." 
.  "Or  none  at  all,  as  M?re  St.  Helena  used  to  say  of  me 


hi" 


|«8 


?'//£  C7//£JV  ITOR. 


\    % 


but  they  know  everything  in  the  Convent,  do  they  not?" 
Angdlique  pinched  the  arm  of  Louise,  as  much  as  to  say, 
•*  Of  course  it  is  true."  "  But  who  told  you  that,  Louise  ?  ** 
asked  she. 

"  O,  every  bird  that  flies  I  But  tell  me  one  thing  more 
-~they  say  the  Intendant  is  a  Bluebeard,  who  has  had  wives 
without  number — nobody  knows  howmanyor  what  became 
of  them,  so  of  course  he  kills  them  I     Is  that  true  ? " 

Angt^lique  shrank  a  little,  and  little  as  it  was  the  move- 
ment was  noticed  by  Louise.  "If  nobody  knows  what 
became  of  them,  how  should  I  know,  Louise  "i "  replied 
she.     "  He  does  not  look  like  a  Bluebeard,  does  he  ? " 

"So  says  Mfere  St.  Joseph,  who  came  from  the  Convent 
at  Borde<«ax,  you  know,  for  she  never  tires  telling  us.  She 
declares  that  the  Chevalier  Bigot  was  never  married  at  all, 
and  she  ought  to  know  that  surely,  as  well  as  she  knows 
her  beads,  for  coming  from  the  same  city  as  the  Intendant — ^ 
and  knowing  his  family  as  she  docs — " 

"  Well,  Loiiise,"  interrupted  Angelique  impatiently,"  but- 
do  you  not  see  the  Sieur  La  Force  is  getting  tired  of  hold- 
ing you  up  so  long  with  his  hand — for  heaven's  sake, 
J  down!" 

"  I  want  to  punish  him  for  going  with  you,  and  not  wait- 
ing for  me  !  "  was  the  cool  whisper  of  Louise  ;  "  but  you 
will  ask  me,  Angelique,  to  the  wedding,  will  you  not  ?  If 
you  do  not,"  continued  she,  "  I  shall  die  !  "  and  delaying 
her  descent  as  long  as  possible,  she  commenced  a  new 
topic  concerning  the  hat  worn  by  Angelique. 

"  Mischief  that  you  are,  get  down  1  The  Sieur  La  Force 
is  my  cavalier  for  the  day,  and  you  shall  not  impose  on  his 
gallantry  that  way  !  He  is  ready  to  drop,"  whispered  An- 
gelique. 

"  One  word  more,  Angelique."  Louise  was  delighted 
to  feel  the  hand  of  La  Force  tremble  more  and  more  under 
her  foot.      r--.  ,<-t  ■■  ■.  .?  -•.•'.  -   ■■'    ■ 

"  No,  not  a  word  t  get  down  ! " 

"  Kiss  me  then  and  good-bye,  cross  thing  that  you  are ! 
Do  not  keep  him  all  day,  or  all  the  class  besides  myselt 
will  be  jealous,"  replied  Louise,  not  offering  to  get  down. 

Angelique  had  no  mind  to  allow  hei  cavalier  to  be  made 
a  horse-block  of,  for  anybody  but  herself.  She  jerked  the 
bridle,  and  making  her  horse  suddenly  piiouette,  compelled 
Louise  to  jump  down.     The  mischievous  little  fairy  turned 


ge 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


S»f 


her  bright  laughing  eyes  full  upon  La  Force  and  thanked 
him  for  his  great  courttsy,  and  with  a  si;;nificant  gesture- 
as  much  as  to  say  he  was  at  liberty  now  to  escort  Angelique, 
having  done  penance  for  the  same — rejoined  her  expect- 
ant companions,  who  iiad  laughed  iieartily  al  her  nianceuvre. 

"She  paints  I  "  was  Louise's  emphatic  whisper  to  her 
companions,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  La  Force,  for 
whoir  the  remark  was  partly  intended.  "She  p«ints!  and 
I  sa^  in  her  eyes  that  she  has  not  slept  all  night  I  She  is 
hi  love  I  and  1  do  believe  it  is  true,  she  is  to  marry  the  In- 
tendant !" 

This  was  delicious  news  to  !r.'  class  of  Louises,  who 
laughed  out  like  a  chime  of  ^il\tr  bells,  as  they  mis- 
chievously bade  La  Force  and  \ngclique  ban  voyage^  and 
passed  down  the  Place  iV Antics  in  search  of  fresh  adven- 
tures to  fill  their  budgets  of  fun — budgets  which,  on  their 
return  to  the  Convent,  they  woiM  opf»i  under  the  very 
noses  of  the  good  nuns  (who  were  not  so  b'  ad  as  they 
seemed,  however),  and  regale  all  their  comp  t  I'ons  with  a 
spicy  treat,  in  response  to  the  universe'  question  evr  put 
to  all  who  had  been  out  in  the  city,  "  U'h;,.t  is  the  news  ?  " 

La  Force,  compliant  as  wax  to  every  caprice  of  An- 
g^lique,  was  secretly  fuming  at  the  trick  played  upon  him 
by  the  Mischief  of  the  Convent — as  he  called  Louise  Roy 
— ^for  which  he  resolved  to  be  revenged,  even  if  he  had  to 
marry  her.  He  and  Angelique  rode  down  the  busy  streets, 
receiving  salutations  on  every  hand.  In  the  great  square 
of  the  market  place  Angelique  pulled  up  in  front  of  the 
Cathedral. 

Why  she  stopped  there  \  "»"ld  have  puzzled  herself  to 
explain.  It  was  not  to  vr  i,hip,  not  to  repent  of  her 
heinous  sin ;  she  neither  repented  nor  desired  to  repent. 
But  it  seemed  pleasant  to  play  at  repentance,  and  put  on 
imaginary  sackcloth.  She  would  try  at  any  rate  to  say  in 
church  the  prayers  which  had  choked  her  at  home. 

Ang^lique's  brief  contact  with  the  fresh,  sunny  nature 
of  Louise  Roy  had  sensibly  raised  her  spirits.  It  lifted  the 
cloud  from  her  brow,  and  made  her  feel  more  like  her 
former  self.  The  stqjy,  half  told  in  jest  by  Louise,  that 
she  was  to  marry  the  Intendant,  flattered  her  vanity  and 
raised  her  hopes  to  the  utmost.  She  liked  the  city  to  talk 
of  her  in  connection  with  the  Intendant. 

34 


530 


THE  CJIIEN  D'OR. 


The  report  had  already  become  the  city's  talk,  and  she 
knew  that  it  was  not  strange  to  the  ears  of  the  Intendant 
himself,  for  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut  only  a  few  nights  ago, 
her  name  had  been  toasted  upon  their  knees  by  Bigot  and 
the  wild  gallant*  of  his  train.  She  had  been  spoken  of 
freely  over  their  cups,  and  Bigot  had  not  denied,  but  cheered 
louder  than  the  rest  when  she  was  named  as  the  *.iture 
bride  ot  the  Intendant. 

*Ang^lique  remembered  this  as  she  entered  the  cathedral, 
and  began  to  think  it  was  not  so  unfortunate  after  all  that 
she  had  taken  counsel  of  La  Corriveau.  -^  i: 

The  image  of  Beaumanoir  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as 
she  knelt  down  upon  the  floor,  not  to  ask  pardon  for  her 
sin,  but  to  pray  for  immunity  for  herself  and  the  speedy 
realization  of  the  great  object  of  her  ambition  and  her 
crime  I  She  almost  persuaded  herself  that  the  death  of 
Caroline,  taking  it  all  in  all,  had  been  an  act  of  especial 
grace  in  answer  to  her  ardent  prayers — to  the  unknown 
goddess,  Venus  Victrix.  _.  /    • 

The  pealing  of  the  organ,  rising  and  falling  in  waves  of 
harmony ;  the  chanting  of  choristers,  and  the  voice  of  the 
Celebrant  during  the  service  in  honor  of  St.  Michael  and 
all  the  Afigels,  touched  her  sensuous  nature,  but  failed  to 
touch  her  conscience.  She  admired,  she  felt  the  harmony, 
saw  the  glory  of  the  archangel,  and  forgot  the  mortal  angel 
lying  in  her  bloody  shroud  under  the  cold  flags  of  the 
secret  chamber  of  the  chateau,  where  she  hoped  full  soon 
to  be  the  regent  and  mistress. 

A  crowd  of  worshippers  were  kneeling  upon  the  floor 
of  the  cathedral,  unobstructed  in  those  days  by  seats  and 
pews,  except  on  one  side,  where  rose  the  stately  bancs  of 
the  Governor  and  the  Intendant,  on  either  side  of  which 
stood  a  sentry  wilh  ported  arms,  and  overhead  upon  the 
wall  blazed  the  royal  escutcheons  of  France. 

Ang^lique,  whose  eyes  roved  incessantly  about  the 
church,  turned  them  often  towards  the  gorgeous  banc  of  the 
Intendant,  and  the  thought  intruded  itself  to  the  exclusion 
of  her  prayers,  "  When  shall  I  sit  there  with  all  these  provd 
ladies  forgetting  their  devotions  through  envy  of  my  good 
fortune  ? " 

She  conjured  up  an  image  of  herself  sitting  on  the 
royal  banc^  and  her  nimble  fancy  flashed  for  a  moment  with 
a  woman's  interest,  upon  the  color  of  the  robe,  the  fashion 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS, 


l^^ 


oi  her  hair  and  her  head-dress,  upon  that  momentous  day— 
a  momentous  day,  indeed,  to  her  if  it  ever  came !  A  still 
more  momentous  thing  if  the  day  never  came  !  Either 
way  to  gain  the  world  she  had  lost  her  soul.  Happy  if  she 
did  not  lose  the  world  too,  by  the  loss  of  her  life,  should 
the  dark  deed  at  Beaumanoir  ever  be  laid  to  her  charge ! 

Bigot  did  not  appear  in  his  place  at  church  to-day.  He 
was  too  profoundly  agitated  and  sick,  and  lay  on  his  bed 
till  evening,  revolving  in  his  astute  mind  schemes  of  ven- 
geance possible  and  ijnpossibie,  to  be  carried  out  should 
his  suspicions  of  Angdlique  become  certainties  of  know- 
ledge and  fact.  His  own  safety  was  at  stake.  The  thought 
that  he  had  been  outwitted  by  the  beautiful,  designing, 
heartless  girl,  the  reflection  that  he  dare  not  turn  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left  to  inquire  into  this  horrid  assas- 
sination, which,  if  discovered,  would  be  laid  wholly  to  his 
own  charge,  drove  h'm  to  the  verge  of  distraction. 

The  Governor  and  his  friend  Peter  Kalm  occupied  the 
royal  danc.  Lutheran  as  he  was,  Peter  Kalm  was  too  phil- 
osophical and  perhaps  too  faithful  a  follower  of  Christ  to 
consider  religion  as  a  matter  of  mere  opinion  or  of  form 
rather  than  of  humble  dependence  upon  God,  the  Father  of 
all,  with  faith  in  Christ  and  the  conscientious  striving  to 
love  God  and  his  neighbor. 

A  short  distance  from  Ang^lique,  two  ladies  in  long 
black  robes,  and  evidently  of  rank,  were  kneeling  with 
downcast  faces  and  hands  clasped  over  their  bosoms,  in  a 
devout  attitude  of  prayer  and  supplication.     . 

Angdlique's  keen  eye,  which  nothing  escaped,  needed 
not  a  second  glance  to  recognize  the  unmistakable  grace 
of  Amdlie  de  Repentigny  and  the  nobility  of  the  Lady  de 
Tilly. 

She  started  at  sight  of  these  relatives  of  Le  Gardeur's, 
but  did  not  wonder  at  their  presence,  for  she  already  knew 
that  they  had  returned  to  the  city  immediately  after  the 
abduction  of  Le  Gardeur  by  the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  - 

Startled,  frightened  and  despairing,  with  aching  hearts 
but  unimpaired  love,  Amdlie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  had 
followed  Le  Gardeur  and  re-occupied  their  stately  house  in 
the  city,  resolved  to  leave  no  means  untried,  no  friends  un- 
solicited, no  prayers  unuttered,  to  rescue  him  from  the  gulf 
of  perdition  into  which  he  had  again  so  madly  plunged. 

Within  an  hour  after  her  return,  Amt^iie,  acconpanied 


532 


THE  CI/IEN  nOR, 


litii 


by  Pierre  Philibert,  had  gone  to  the  Palace  to  seek  an  inter 
view  with  her  brother.  They  were  rudely  denied.  "  He 
was  playing  a  game  of  piquet  for  the  championship  of  the 
Palace  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  could  not  come  if 
St.  Peter,  let  alone  Pierre  Philibert,  stood  at  the  gate 
knocking !  " 

This  reply  had  passed  through  the  impure  lips  of  the 
Sieur  de  Lantagnac  before  it  reached  Amt^lie  and  Pierre. 
They  did  not  believe  it  came  from  their  brother.  They 
left  the  Palace  with  heavy  hearts,  after  long  and  vainly 
seeking  an  interview,  Philibert  resolving  to  appeal  to  the 
Intendant  himself  and  call  him  to  account  at  the  sword's 
point,  if  need  be,  for  the  evident  plot  in  the  Palace  to  detain 
Le  Gardeur  from  his  friends.  .   t^v. 

Am^lie,  dreading  some  such  resolution  on  the  part  of 
Pierre,  went  back  next  day  alone  to  the  Palace  to  try  once 
more  to  see  Le  Gardeur. 

She  was  agitated  and  in  tears  at  the  fate  of  her  brother. 
She  was  anxious,  too,  over  the  evident  danger  which  Pierre 
seemed  to  court,  for  his  sake,  and  she  would  not  hide  the 
truth  from  herself,  for  her  own  sake,  too,  and  yet  she  would 
not  forbid  him — she  felt  her  own  noble  blood  stirred  within 
her  to  the  point  that  she  wished  herself  a  man  to  be  able 
to  walk  sword  in  hand  into  the  Palace  and  confront  the 
herd  of  revellers  who  she  believed  h^id  plotted  the  ruin  of 
her  brother. 

, ,.  She  was  proud  of  Pierre,  while  she  trembled  at  the  re- 
solution whicji  she  read  in  his  countenance  of  demanding 
as  a  soldier,  and  not  as  a  suppliant,  the  restoration  of  Le 
Gardeur  to  his  family. 

Amdlie's  second  visit  to  the  Palace  had  been  as  fruitless 
as  her  first.  She  was  denied  admittance,  with  the  pro- 
foundest  regrets  on  the  part  of  De  Pean,  who  met  her  at 
the  door  and  strove  to  exculpate  himself  from  the  accusa- 
tion of  having  persuaded  Le  Gardeur  to  depart  from  Tilly, 
and  of  keeping  him  in  the  palace  against  the  prayers  of 
his  friends. 

De  Pean  remembered  his  presumption  as  well  as  his 
rejection  by  Am^Ue  at  Tilly,  and  while  his  tongue  ran 
smooth  as  oil  in  pc  Ite  regrets  that  Le  Gardeur  had  resolved 
not  to  see  his  sister  to-day,  her  evident  distress  filled  him 
\rith  joy,  which  he  rolled  under  his  tongue  as  the  most 
delicate  morsel  of  revenge  he  had  ever  tasted.  . 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS 


533 


Bowing  with  well-affected  politeness,  De  Pean  attended 
her  to  her  carriage,  and  having  seen  her  depart  in  tears, 
returned  laughing  into  the  Palace,  remarking,  as  he  mi 
micked  the  weeping  countenance  of  Amdlie,  that  "  the 
hotmetes  gens  had  learned  it  was  a  serious  matter  to  come 
to  the  burial  of  the  virtues  of  a  young  gentleman  like  L« 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  I  " 

\\  On  her  return  home,  Am^lie  threw  herself  on  the  ne   , 
of  her  aunt,  repeating  in  broken  accents,  "  My  poor  i.,e 
Gardeur !  my  brother  !     He  refuses  to  see  me,  aunt !     He 
is  lost  and  ruined  in  that  den  of  all  iniquity  and  false- 
hood ! " 

"  Be  composed,  Amelia,"  replied  the  Lady  de  Tilly  ;  **  I 
know  it  is  hard  to  bear,  but  perhaps  Le  Gardeur  did  not 
send  that  message  to  you.  The  men  about  him  are  capa- 
ble of  deceiving  you  to  an  extent  you  have  no  conception 
of,  you  who  know  so  little  of  the  world's  baseness. 

"  O  aunt,  it  is  true  1  He  sent  me  this  dreadful  thing, 
I  took  it,  for  it  bears  the  handwriting  of  my  brother." 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  card,  one  of  a  pack.  It  was 
the  deathcard  of  superstitious  lookers  into  futurity.  Had 
he  selected  it  because  it  bore  that  reputation,  or  was  it  by 
chance  ? 

On  the  back  of  it  he  had  written,  or  scrawled  in  a 
trembling  hand,  yet  plainly,  the  words,  "  Return  home, 
Am^lie.  I  will  not  see  you.  I  have  lost  the  game  of  life, 
and  won  the  card  you  see.  Return  home,  dear  sister ! 
and  forget  your  unworthy  and  ruined  brother,  Le  Gar- 
deur." 

Lady  de  Tilly  took  the  card  and  read  and  re-read  it, 
trying  to  find  a  meaning  it  did  not  contain,  and  trying  not 
to  find  the  sad  meaning  it  did  contain. 

She  comforted  Am^lie  as  best  she  could,  while  needing 
strength  herself  to  bear  the  bitter  cross  laid  upon  them 
both,  in  the  sudden  bl.'ghting  of  that  noble  life  of  which 
they  ha  i  been  so  proud. 

She  took  Amdlie  in  her  arms,  mingling  her  own  tears 
with  hers,  and  biddi  ,g  her  not  despair.  "  A  sister's  love," 
sa  id  she,  "  never  forgets,  never  wearies,  never  despairs." 
They  had  friends  too  powerful  to  be  withstood,  even  by 
Bigot,  and  the  Intendant  would  be  compelled  to  loosen 
his  hold  upon  Le  Gardeur.  She  would  rely  uf  on  the  in- 
herent nobleness  of  the  nt/ure  of  Le  Gardeur  himself,  to 


534 


THE  CUiEN  D'OR. 


wash  itself  pure  of  all  itaiii,  could  they  only  withdraw  him 
from  the  seductions  of  the  Palace.  We  will  win  him  from 
them  by  counter  charms,  Amelie,  and  it  will  be  seen  that 
virtue  is  stronger  than  vice  to  conquer  at  last  the  heart  of 
I^e  Gardeur. 

"  Alas,  aunt  1 "  replied  the  poor  girl,  her  eyes  suffused 
with  tears,  "  neither  friend  nor  foe  will  avail  to  ;urn  hirr 
from  the  way  he  has  resolved  to  go.  He  is  desperate, 
and  rushes  witii  onen  eyes  upon  his  ruin.  We  know  the 
reason  of  it  al!  rhere  is  but  one  who  could  have  saved 
Le  Gardeur,  if  she  would.  She  is  utterly  unworthy  of  my 
brother,  but  I  feel  now  it  were  better  Le  Gardeur  had 
married  even  her,  than  that  he  should  be  utterly  lost  to 
himself  and  us  all.  I  will  see  Angelique  des  Meloises 
myself.  It  was  her  summons  brought  him  back  to  the 
city.  She  alone  can  withdraw  him  from  the  vile  com- 
panionship of  Bigot  and  his  associates  at  the  Palace." 

Angelique  had  been  duly  informed  of  the  return  of 
Amdlie  to  the  city,  and  of  her  fruitless  visits  to  the  Palace 
to  r:ee  her  brother. , 

It  was  no  pleasure,  but  a  source  of  angry  disappoint- 
ment to  Angdlique  that  Le  Gardeur,  in  despair  of  making 
her  his  wife,  refused  to  devote  himself  to  her  as  her  lover. 
He  was  running  wild  to  destruction,  instead  of  letting  her 
win  the  husband  she  aspired  to,  and  retain  at  the  same 
time  the  gallant  she  loved  and  was  not  willing  to  forego. 

She  had  seen  him  at  the  first  sober  moment  after  his 
return  from  Tilly,  in  obedience  to  her  summons.  She  had 
permitted  him  to  pour  out  again  his  passion  at  her  feet. 
She  had  yielded  to  his  kisses  when  he  claimed  her  heart 
and  hand,  and  had  not  refused  to  own  the  mutual  flame 
that  covered  her  cheek  with  a  blush  at  her  own  falseness. 
But  driven  to  the  wall  by  his  impetuosity,  she  had  at  last 
killed  his  reviving  hopes  by  her  repetition  of  the  fatal 
words,  "  I  love  j  ou,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry 

you  I  "  .i.-'.i>.;i  ■;••   .i:v;y  i.ij\    .■■■;- 

Let  justice  be  done  to  Angdlique. 

It  was  hard  even  for  her  to  repeat  those  words,  but  her 
resolution  once  taken  could  not  te  overthrown.  There 
was  no  base  of  real  feeling  in  her  nature  upon  which  to 
rest  the  lever  that  moves  other  women  to  change  with 
pardonable  inconsistencies.  Angelique  was  by  impulse 
true,  by  deliberate  calculation  false  and  immovable      /^^ 


SILK  GLOySS  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


51$ 


com- 


J  ^  .-*  * 


It  was  in  vain  that  Le  Gardeur  pleaded  witli  lier.  He 
touclied  her  synipathy  the  nearest  that  any  mortal  man 
could  do,  but  her  sympathy  was  a  hard  polished  surface  ; 
her  heart  was  impenetrable  to  true  lovo.  It  was  cold  as 
marble,  and  empty  of  all  save  idols  of  vanity,  frivolity  and 
utter  selfishness.  It  could  reflect  love  as  from  a  mirror, 
but  never  feel  its  true  warmth  stirring  within. 

Angtflique  was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  with- 
draw from  the  presence  of  Amelie  in  the  Cathedral,  before 
being  discovered  by  her.  She  was  half  afraid  that  her 
former  school  companion  would  not  speak  to  her  on  the 
subject  of  Le  Gardeur.  She  could  not  brazen  it  out  with 
Amt^lic,  who  knew  her  too  well,  and  if  she  could  she  would 
gladly  avoid  the  angry  flash  of  those  dark  pure  eyes, 
which  looked  through  and  through  you  like  the  eyes  of 
God's  cherubim,  which  see  within  and  without. 

Aindlie  was  to  the  imagination  of  Angdlique  an  em- 
bodiment of  spiritual  forces,  which  she  could  never  com- 
prehend, but  which  she  knew  to  be  irresistible  in  any 
combat  with  falsehood  and  deceit.  On  more  than  one 
occasion,  Angdiique's  hardihood  had  quailed  and  broken 
down  before  the  quiet  moral  strength  of  Amelie  de  Repen- 
tigny. 

The  organ  was  pealing  the  last  notes  of  the  doxology, 
and  the  voices  of  the  choristers  seemed  to  re-echo  from 
the  depths  of  eternity  the  words  "  ///  scecula  sceculorum^^ 
when  Angtilique  rose  up  suddenly  to  leave  the  church. 

Her  irreverent  haste  caused  those  about  her  to  turn 
their  heads  at  the  slight  confusion  she  made,  Amelie 
among  the  rest,  who  recognized  at  once  the  countenance 
of  Angdlique,  somewhat  flushed  and  irritated,  as  she  strove 
vainly,  with  the  help  of  La  Force,  to  get  out  of  the  throng 
of  kneelii;^;  people  who  covered  the  broad  floor  of  the 
cathedral. 

Amdlie  deemed  it  a  fortunate  chance  to  meet  Ange- 
lique  so  opportiuiely — ^just  when  her  desire  to  do  so  was 
strongest.  She  caught  her  eye,  and  made  her  a  quick 
sign  to  stay,  and  approaching  her,  seized  her  hands  in  her 
old  affectionate  way. 

*'  Wait  a  few  moments,  Angdlique,"  said  she,  •'  until 
the  people  depart.  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone.  I  am 
so  fortunate  to  find  you  here." 

"  I  will  see  you  outside,  Amelie.     The  Sieur  La  Force 


^ 


'fe- 


53^ 


THE  cj/jea;  v'OJt. 


h 


is  with  in?,  anc!  ca  mot  stay."    Ang^Iique  dreaded  an  Int©^ 
view  with  Atndlie. 

"  No',  I  will  sp2  ik  to  you  here.  It  will  be  better  here 
in  God's  temple  ihan  elsewhere.  The  Sieur  La  Force 
will  wait  for  you  if  yon  ask  him,  or  shall  I  ask  him  ? "  A 
faint  smMe  accompanied  these  words  of  Anielie,  which  she 
partly  addressed  to  La  Force.  .      ..-■■>... 

La  Force,  to  Aagdlique's  chagrin,  uivler  i  ndi7ig  tba? 
Amcilie  desired  him  to  wait  fo**  Ang^lique  outsidi,  ^X  ouci 
offered  to  do  so. 

"Or,  perhaps,"  continued  Amuli/j,  offv-ing  her  hand, 
*'  the  Sieur  La  Force,  whom  1  iim  glad  to  see,  will  have 
the  politeness  to  accompany  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  wb?le  T 
speak  to  Mademoiselle  des  Me!oise>  ?" 

La  Force  was  all  compliance.  '*  He  was  qii**^P!  at  the 
service  ot  the  ladies,"  he  said  polittly,  '  and  woui:*  esteem 
it  an  'iimyc  to  accompany  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly." 

The  Laay  de  Tilly  at  once  saw  through  the  design  of 
her  niec  :,  .She  acceded  to  the  arrangement,  and  left  the 
cathedra'  iii  company  with  the  Sieur  La  Force,  whom  she 
knew  as  the  son  of  an  old  and  valued  friend. 

He  accompanied  her  home,  while  Am^lie,  holding  fast 
to  the  arm  of  Ang^lique,  until  the  church  was  empty  of 
all  but  a  few  scattered  devotees  and  penitents,  led  her 
into  a  side  chapel,  separated  from  the  body  of  the  church 
by  a  screen  of  carved  work  of  oak,  wherein  stood  a  small 
altar  and  a  reliquary  with  a  picture  of  St.  Paul. 

The  seclusion  of  this  place  commended  itself  to  the 
feelings  of  Amelie.  She  made  Ang^lique  kneel  down  by 
her  side  before  the  altar.  After  breathing  a  short  silent 
prayer  for  help  and  guidance,  she  seized  her  companion 
by  both  hands  and  besought  her  "  in  God's  name  to  tell 
her  what  she  had  done  to  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  ruining 
himself  both  soul  and  body  ? " 

Ang»'/hque,  hardy  as  she  was,  could  ill  bear  the  search- 
ing gaze  of  those  pure  eyes.  She  quailed  under  them  for  a 
moment,  afraid  that  the  question  might  have  some  refer- 
ence to  Beaumanoir,  but  re-assured  by  the  words  of 
Am<$lie,  that  her  interview  had  relation  to  Le  Garde&r 
only,  she  replied — 

"I  have  done  nothing  to  mavj  i..^  Gardeur  ruji  him- 
self, soul  or  body,  Amelie.  Nor  do  I  believe  he  is  doin^^ 
SO.    Our  old  convent  notions  are  too  narrow  to  take  out 


S/IA'  GLOVES  OVHR  BLOODY  HANDS. 


53t 


with  us  into  the  worU'.     You  judge  Le  G;ircleur  too  rigidly, 
Am^lie." 

"Would  that  were  my  fault,  Angt^lique  !  "  replied  she, 
earnestly,  "  but  my  iieart  tells  me  he  is  lost  unless  those 
who  led  him  astray  remit  him  again  into  the  path  of  virtue 
whence  they  seduced  him." 

Angdliquc  winced,  for  she  took  the  allusion  to  herse1(| 
although  in  the  mind  of  Aindlie  it  referred  more  to  the 
Intendant.  "  Le  Gardeur  is  no  weakling  to  be  led  astray,'* 
replied  she.  "He  is  a  strong  man  to  lead  others,  not  to 
be  led,  as  I  know  better  thin  even  his  sister." 

Amdlie  looked  up  inquiringly,  but  Angt^lique  did  not 
pursue  the  thought  nor  explain  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  Le  Gardeur,"  continued  Angolique,  "  is  not  worse,  nay 
with  all  his  faults,  is  far  better  than  most  young  gallants 
who  have  the  laudable  ambition  to  make  a  figure  in  the 
world  such  as  women  admire.  One  cannot  hope  to  find 
men  saints  and  we  women  be  such  sinners  !  Saints  would 
be  dull  companions,  I  prefer  mere  men,  Amdlie  !" 

"  For  shame,  Angelique !  to  say  such  things  before  the 
sacred  shrine,"  exclaimed  Amtflie,  indignantly  stopping  her. 
"  What  wonder  that  men  are  wicked  when  women  tempt 
them  to  be  so  !  Le  Gardeur  was  like  none  of  the  gallants 
you  compare  him  with  !  He  loved  virtue  and  hated  vice, 
and  above  all  things  he  despised  the  companionship  of 
such  men  as  now  detain  him  at  the  Palace.  You  first  took 
him  from  me,  Angelique !  I  ask  you  now  to  give  him  back 
to  me.  Give  m?  back  my  brother,  Angdlique  des  Meloises  1" 
Amdlie  grasped  her  by  the  arm  in  the  earnestness  of  her 
appeal. 

"I  took  h'la  from  you?"  exclaimed  Angelique, hotly. 
"  It  is  untrue  1  Forgive  my  saying  so,  Amelie  !  I  took  him  no 
more  than  did  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  or  Cecile  Touran- 
geau  !  Will  you  hear  the  truth  ?  He  fell  in  love  with  me 
and  I  had  not  the:  heart  to  repulse  him — nay,  I  could  not, 
for  I  will  confess  to  you,  Amdlie,»as  I  often  avowed  to  you 
in  the  Convent,  I  loved  Le  Gardeur  the  best  of  all  my  ad- 
mirei>  I  and  by  t.iis  blessed  shrine,"  continued  she,  laying 
her  hand  upon  it,  "  I  do  still !  If  he  be  as  some  say  he 
is,  going  too  fast,  for  his  own  good  or  yours  or  mine,  I  re- 
gjat  it  with  my  whole  heart ;  I  regret  it  as  you  do !  Can  I 
•ay  more  ? " 

Angelique  was  sincere  in  this.     Her  words  sounded  hoa? 


'^^ 


.  -  \.  -J  o.'"' 


S3« 


THM  CHIEN  D'Ok. 


I'f  ^m\ 


% 

'BH^^vi 

\  \ 

I^H: 

ii 

i^^^JB, 

1 

!-^^^K'' 

est,  and  she  spoke  with  a  real  warmth  in  her  bosom>  such 
as  she  had  not  felt  in  a  long  time. 

Her  words  impressed  Amdlie  favorably. 

"  I  think  you  speak  truly,  Angelique,"  replied  she,  "  when 
you  say  you  regret  Le  Gardeur's  relapse  into  the  evil  ways 
cf  the  Palace.  No  one  that  ever  knew  my  noble  brother 
could  do  other  than  regret  it.  But  O,  Ang^lique !  why 
with  all  your  influence  over  him  did  not  you  prevent  it? 
Why  do  you  not  rescue  him  now  ?  A  word  from  you  would 
have  been  of  more  avail  than  the  pleading  of  all  the  world 
beside  !  " 

"  Amdlie,  you  try  me  hard,"  said  Angt5lique,  uneasily, 
conscious  of  the  truth  of  Am^lie's  words,  "but  I  can  bear 
much  for  the  sake  of  Le  Gardeur  !  Be  assured  that  I  have 
no  power  to  influence  his  conduct  in  the  way  of  amend- 
ment, except  upon  impossible  conditions  !  I  have  tried, 
and  my  efforts  have  been  vain,  as  your  own !" 

"  Conditions  !  "  replied  Amdiie,  "  what  conditions  ?  but 
I  need  not  ask  you  I  He  told  me  in  his  hour  of  agony  of 
your  inexplicable  dealing  with  him,  and  yet  not  so  inexpli- 
cable now  !  Why  did  you  profess  to  love  my  brother,  lead- 
ing him  on  and  on  to  an  offer  of  his  hand,  and  then  cruelly 
reject  him,  adding  one  more  to  the  list  of  your  heartless 
triumphs  ?  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  too  good  for 
such  a  fate  from  any  woman,  Angdlique  !  "  Amdlie's  eyes 
swam  in  tears  of  indignation  as  she  said  this. 

"  He  was  too  good  for  me  !  "  said  Angdlique,  dropping 
her  eyes.  "  I  will  acknowledge  that,  if  it  will  do  you  any 
good,  Am^lie  !  But  can  you  not  believe  that  there  was  a 
sacrifice  on  my  part  as  well  as  on  his  or  yours  ? " 

"  I  judge  not  between  you,  Angdlique !  or  between  the 
many  chances  wasted  on  you  ;  but  I  say  this,  Angdlique 
des  Meloises  !  you  wickedly  stole  the  heart  of  the  noblest 
brother  in  Nev\  France  to  trample  it  under  your  feet !" 

"  'Fore  God,  I  did  not,  Amelie  !"  she  replied  indignantly, 
**  I  loved  and  do  lov*'  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  but  I 
n^ver  plighted  my  troth  to  him,  I  never  deceived  him  I  I 
told  him  I  loved  him,  but  I  could  not  marry  him  !  and  by 
this  sacred  cross,"  said  she,  placing  her  hands  upon  it,  "  it 
is  true  !  I  never  trampled  upon  the  heart  of  Le  Gardeur  j 
1  could  kiss  his  hands,  his  feet  with  trar  affection  as  rver 
loving  woman  gave  to  man,  but  my  duty;  my  troth,  my  Ihii?, 
were  in  the  hands  of  another !  " 


SILK  GLOVES  OV&R  BLOODY  HANLS, 


539 


Ang^ique  felt  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  the  confession  to 
Am^ie  of  her  love  for  her  brother.  It  was  the  next  thing 
to  confessing  it  to  himself,  which  had  been  once  the  joy  t3 
her  life,  but  it  changed  not  one  jot  iicr  determination  to 
wed  only  the  Intendant,  unless, — ye'3 1  her  busy  mind  had 
to-day  called  up  a  thousand  possible  and  impossible  con- 
tingencies that  might  spring  up,  out  of  tiie  unexpected  use 
of  the  stiletto  by  La  Corriveau.  "What  if  the  Intendant, 
suspecting  her  complicity  in  the  murder  of  Caroline,  should 
refuse  to  marry  her  ?  Were  it  not  well  in  that  desperdfte 
case  to  have  Le  Gardeur  to  fall  l)a(  k  upon  ?  He  would 
take  her  at  a  word  ;  nay,  she  Haltered  herself  that  he  would 
take  her  believing  her  denial  of  guilt  against  the  accusation 
of  all  the  world." 

If  the  golden  arrow  missed  the  target,  she  would  hit  it 
with  the  silver  one  I  and  her  mind  misgave  her  sometimes, 
that  it  might  be  almost  as  pleasant  to  marr^  the  man  she 
loved  for  his  own  sake,  as  the  man  she  wanted  for  sake  of 
his  rank  and  riches. 

Amdlie  watched  nervously  the  changing  countenance  of 
Ang^lique.  She  knew  it  was  a  beautiful  mask  covering 
impenetrable  deceit,  and  that  no  principle  of  right  kept  her 
from  wrong  when  wrong  was  either  pleasant  or  profitable. 
A  man  had  better  trust  his  naked  hauu  in  the  mouth  of  a 
wolf  than  his  true  heart  in  the  keeping  of  Angdlique. 

The  conviction  came  upon  Amdlie  like  a  flash  of  inspira- 
tion that  she  was  wrong  in  seeking  to  save  Le  Gardeur  by 
seconding  his  wild  offer  of  marriage  to  Ang^lique.  A  union 
with  this  false  and  capricious  wonian  would  only  make  his 
ruin  more  complete  and  his  latter  end  worse  than  the  first. 
"  She  would  not  urge  it,"  she  thought. 

"  Ang^lique,"  said  she,  "  if  you  love  Le  Gardeur,  you  will 
not  refuse  your  help  to  rescue  him  from  the  Palace.  You 
cannot  wish  to  see  him  degraded  as  a  gentleman  because 
he  has  been  rejected  by  you  as  a  lover."  "T'  iH?/ 

"  Who  says  I  wish  to  see  him  degraded  as  a  gentleman  ? 
and  I  did  not  reject  him  as  a  lover  1  not  finally,  that  is  I 
did  not  wholly  mean  it.  When  I  sent  to  invite  his  return 
from  Tilly  it  was  out  of  friendship,  love,  if  you  will,  Amdlie, 
but  from  no  desire  that  he  should  plunge  into  fresh  dissipa- 
tion." )'.M    v■^'r■r■•■^^m.^    f,   -.    ;.    '■'  ■'.-.r;        ■- 

"  I  believe  you,  An^dlique  1  you  could  not  if  you  had  the 
heart  of  a  woman  loving  him  ever  so  little,  desire  to  sec 


<r     I.  •■  / 


540 


THE  CHIEN  IXOR. 


A 


him  fall  into  ihe  clutches  of  men  who  with  the  wine  cup  Ji 
one  hand  and  the  dice  box  in  the  other,  will  never  reit 
until  they  ruin  him  bodj',  soul  and  estate." 

"  Before  God  I  never  desired  it,  and  to  prove  it,  I  have 
cursed  De  Pcan  to  jiis  face,  and  erased  Lantagnac  from  my 
list  of  friend.^  for  coming  to  show  me  the  money  he  had 
won  from  Lc  Cxurdeur  while  intoxrcated.  Lantagnac  brought 
me  a  set  of  pearls  which  he  had  purchased  out  of  his  win- 
nings, i  threw  them  into  the  fire  and  woutd  have  thrown  him 
after  them,  had  I  been  a  man  !  'tore  God  I  would,  Am^lie  1 
I  may  have  wounded  Le  G.^rdv^ur,  but  no  othei  man  or 
woman  shall  injure  him  wiili  luy  consent." 

Ang^lique  spoke  this  in  a  tone  of  sincerity  that  touched 
somewhat  the  heart  of  Amelie,  although  the  aberrations 
and  inconsistencies  of  this  strange  girl  perplexed  her  to 
the  utmost  to  understand  what  she  really  felt. 

"I  think  I  may  trust  you,  Angt^lique,  to  help  me  to 
rescue  him  from  association  with  the  Palace  ?"  said  Amelie, 
gently,  almost  submissively,  as  if  she  half  feared  a  refusal. 

"  I  desire  nothing  more,"  replied  Angdlique ;  "  you 
have  little  faith  in  me,  I  see  that,"  Angdlique  wiped  her 
eyes,  in  which  a  shade  of  moisture  could  ^«  seen, — "  but 
I  am  sincere  in  my  friendship  for  Le  Gardeur.  The  Vir- 
gin be  my  witness,  I  never  wished  his  injury,  even  when  I 
injured  him  most.  He  sought  me  in  marriage,  and  I  was 
bound  to  another." 

**  You  are  to  marry  the  Intendant,  they  say?  I  do  not 
wonder,  and  yet  x  do  wonder,  at  your  refusing  my  brother, 
even  for  him."  •  "     -n)  :* 

"Marry  the  Intendanl !  Yes,  it  is  what  fools  and  some 
wise  people  say.     [  never  said  it  myself,  AmtJlie." 

"But  you  mean  it,  nevertheless;  and  for  no  other 
would  you  have  thrown  over  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny." 

"I  did  not  throw  him  over,"  she  answered,  indignantly. 
'* But  why  dispute.''  I  cannot,  Amelie,  say  more,  even  to 
you !  I  am  distraught  with  cares  and  anxieties,  and  know 
not  which  way  to  tun." 

"  Turn  here  !  where  I  turn  in  my  troubles,  Angdlique," 
replied  Amdie,  moving  closer  to  the  altar.  "Let  us  pray 
for  Le  Gardeur."  Angdlique  obeyed  mechanically  and  the 
two  girl?  prpyed  silently  for  a  few  moments,  but  how  dif- 
ferently in  spirit  and  feeling !  The  one  prayed  for  her 
brother — the  other  tried  to  pray,  but  it  was  more  for  her 


THE  INTENDANrS  DILEMMA, 


541 


self,  for  safety  in  her  crime  and  success  in  her  deep  laid 
scheming.  A  p.  .yer  for  Le  Gardour  mingled  with  Ang^* 
lique's  devotions,  giving  them  a  color  of  virtue.  Her 
desire  for  his  welfare  was  sincere  enough,  and  she  thought 
it  disinterested  of  herself  to  pray  for  him. 

Suddenly  Angel ique  started  up  as  if  stung  by  a  wasp. 
*  I  must  take  leave  of  you,  my  Anielie,"  said  she,  "  I  am 
glad  I  met  you,  here.  I  trust  you  understand  me  now, 
and  will  rely  on  my  being  as  a  sister  to  LeGardeur,*  to  do 
what  1  can  to  restore  him  perfect  to  you  and  the  good 
Lady  de  Tilly." 

Amelie  was  touched.  She  embraced  Ang^lique  and 
kissed  her,  yet  so  cold  and  impassive  she  felt  her  to  be,  a 
shiver  ran  through  her  as  she  did  so.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  touched  the  dead,  and  she  long  afterwards  thought  of 
it.  There  was  a  mystery  in  this  strange  girl  that  Amc^e 
could  not  fathom  nor  guess  the  meaning  of.  They  left  the 
Cathedral  together.  It  was  now  quite  empty  save  of  a 
lingering  penitent  or  two  kneeling  at  the  shrines.  Ang^- 
lique  and  Am6lie  parted  at  the  door,  the  one  eastward,  the 
other  westward, — and  carried  away  by  the  divergent  cur- 
rents of  their  lives,  they  never  met  again. 


•■  1 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

.'    "  ■  ■  ,"■■■■'      ^ 

THE   INTENDANT'S   DILEMMA. 


■'.t:y-\- 


M 


DID  I  not  know  for  a  certainty  that  she  was  present 
till  midnight  at  the  party  given  by  Madame  de 
Grandmaison,  I  should  suspect  he^r,  by  God  I  "  exclaimed 
the  Intendant,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  his  private  room 
in  the  Palace,  angry  and  perplexed  to  the  uttermost  over 
the  mysterious  assassination  at  Beaumanoir.  "  What  think 
you,  Cadet  ? " 

"  I  think  that  proves  an  alibi^^  replied  Cadet,  stretching 
himself  lazily  in  an  armchair  and  smoking  with  half  shut 
eyes.  There  was  a  cynical,  mocking  tone  in  his  voice 
which  seemed  to  imply  that  although  it  proved  an  alibis  it 
did  not  prove  innocence  to  the  satisfaction  of  •  the  Sieuf 
Cadet, 


•  ■d 


;.'j:v,> 


'  PJi  .*i,' 


S4« 


THE  CHI  EN  or  OR, 


"You  think  more  than  you  say,  Cadet  O-twithif 
Let  me  hear  the  worst  of  your  suspicions,  i  Uncy  the) 
chime  with  mine/'  said  the  Inteiidant,  in  quick  reply. 

"As  the  bells  of  the  Cathedral  with  the  bells  of  the 
Recollcts,"  drawled  out  Cadet.  "  I  think  she  did  it,  Bigot, 
and  you  think  the  same  ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  be 
called  upon  to  prove  it,  nor  you  either,—  not  for  the  sake 
of  the  pretty  witch,  but  for  your  own."  ' 

"  f  could  prove  nothing.  Cadet.  She  was  the  gayest 
and  most  light-hearted  of  all  the  company  last  night  at 
Madame  de  Grandmaison's.  I  have  made  the  most  par 
tirular  inquiries  of  Varin  a 'id  Deschenaux.  They  needed 
no  asking,  but  burst  out  at  once  into  praise  and  admiration 
of  her  gaiety  and  wit.  It  is  certain  she  was  not  at  Beau- 
manoir."  ,v  .  '  ,         .         *       .;. 

'•  You  often  boasted  you  knew  women  better  than  I,  and 
I  yielded  the  point  in  regard  to  Angdlique."  replied  Cadet, 
refilling  his  pipe.  "  I  did  not  profess  to  fathom  the  depths 
of  that  girl,  but  I  thought  you  knew  her.  Egad !  she  has 
been  too  clever  for  you  Bigot !  She  has  aimed  to  be  the 
Lady  Intendant  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  succeed !  That 
girl  has  the  spirit  of  a  war-horse  ;  she  would  carry  any  man 
round  the  world.  I  wish  she  would  carry  me.  I  would 
rule  Versailles  in  six  weeks,  with  that  woman,  Bigot !  " 

"The  same  thought  has  occurred  to  me,  Cadet,  and 
I  might  have  been  entrapped  by  it  had  not  this  cursed 
affair  happened.  La  Pompadour  is  a  simpleton  beside 
Angdlique  des  Meloises  1  My  difficulty  is  to  believe  her 
so  mad  as  to  have  ventured  on  this  bold  deed." 

"'Tis  not  the  boldness,  only  the  uselessness  of  it, 
would  stop  Ang^lique  ! "  answered  Cadet,  shutting  one  eye 
"with  an  air  of  lazy  comfort. 

"  But  the  deceitfulnq^s  of  it.  Cadet  I  A  girl  like  her 
could  not  be  so  gay  last  night  with  such  a  bloody  purpose 
on  her  soul.     Could  she,  think  you?"        ^^  ,  ...*         ,,  .- 

"  Couldn't  she  ?  Tut !  Deceit  is  every  woman's  nature  ! 
Her  wardrobe  is  not  complete  unless  it  contains  as  many 
lies  for  her  occasions  as  ribbons  for  her  adornment  I  " 

"  You  believe  she  did  it  then  ?  What  makes  you  think 
so.  Cadet  ? "  asked  Bigot  eagerly,  drawing  near  his  com- 
panion. .'■   •'   "A  i'^r'.y-:.'  .;■.-  1(.u;,  a  ^--a!.; 

"  Why,  she  and  you  are  the  only  persons  on  earth  who 
bad  an  interest  in  that  girl's  death.   She  to  get  a  dangerous 


THE  rNTF.iWDAiW'S  DILEMMA. 


S43 


rivil  out  of  the  way — you  to  hide  hor  from  the  search- 
t  warrants  sent  out  by  La  Pompadour.     You  did  not  do  It, 
I  know:  ergo,  she  did  t    Can  any  logic  be  plainer?    Thtv 
is  the  reason  I  think  so,  Bigot." 

"But  how  has  it  been  accomplished,  Cadet?  Have 
you  any  theory  ?  She  can  not  have  done  it  with  her  own 
hand." 

"  Why,  there  is  only  one  way  that  I  cau  see.  We  know 
she  did  not  do  the  murder  herself,  therefore  she  has  done 
it  by  the  hand  of  another.  Here  is  proof  of  a  confederate. 
Bigot, — I  picked  this  up  in  the  secret  chamber."  Cadet 
drew  out  of  his  pocket  the  fragment  of  the  letter  torn  in 
pieces  by  La  Corriveau.  "  Is  this  the  handwriting  of 
Ang^lique  ?  "  asked  he. 

*  .  Bigot  seized  the  scrap  of  paper,  read  it,  turned  it  over 
and  scrutinized  it,  striving  to  find  resemblances  between 
the  writing  and  that  of  every  one  known  to  him.  His 
scrutiny  was  in  vain. 

"  This  writing  is  not  Angdlique's,"  said  he.  "  It  is 
utterly  unknown  to  me.  It  is  a  woman's  hand,  but  cer- 
tainly not  the  hand  of  any  woman  of  my  acquaintance,  and 
I  have  letters  and  billets  from  almost  every  lady  in  Que- 
bec. It  is  proof  of  a  confederate,  however,  for  listen. 
Cadet!  It  arranges  for  an  interview  with  Caroline,  poor 
girl  I  It  was  thus  she  was  betrayed  to  her  death.  It  is 
torn,  but  enough  remains  to  make  the  sense  clear — listen : 
"  At  the  arched  door  about  midnight — if  she  pleased  to 
admit  her  she  would  learn  important  matters  concerning 
herself — the  Intendant  and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin 
— speedily  arrive  in  the  Colony."  That  throws  light 
upon  the  mystery.  Cadet !  A  woman  was  to  have  an 
interview  with  Caroline  at  midnight !  Good  God,  Cadet  I 
not  two  hours  before  we  arrived  !  And  we  deferred  start- 
ing in  order  that  we  might  rook  the  Seigneur  de  Port 
Neuf  I  Too  late !  too  late !  O  cursed  word  that  ever 
seals  our  fate  when  we  propose  a  good  deed  I  "  and  Bigot 
felt  himself  a  man  injured  and  neglected  by  Providence. 

"  *  Important  matters  relating  to  herself,* "  repeated 
Bigot,  reading  again  the  scrap  of  writing.  "  '  The  Intend- 
ant and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin — speedily  to  arrive  in  the 
Colony.*  No  one  knew  but  the  sworn  Councillors  of  the 
Governor  that  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  was  coming  out  to 
the  Colony.     A  woman  has  done  the  deed,  and  she  has 


-':% 


ti 


544 


rff£  CHIEN  DOR. 


V 

% 


l^ 


1 


been  informed  of  the  secrets  spoken  in  Council  by  some 
councillor  present  on  that  day  at  the  Castle.  Who  was 
he  ?  and  who  was  she  ? "  questioned  Bigot,  excitedly. 

"  The  argument  runs  like  water  down  hill,  Bigot  1 
but,  par  Dieu !  I  would  not  have  believed  that  New 
France  contained  two  women  of  such  mettle  as  the  one  to 
contrive,  the  other  to  execute  a  master-piece  of  devilment 
like  that ! " 

"  Since  we  find  another  hand  in  the  dish,  it  may  nol 
have  been  Angdlique  after  all,"  remarked  Bigot.  "  It  is 
hard  to  believe  one  so  fair  and  free  spoken,  guilty  of  so 
dark  and  damnable  a  crime."  Bigot  would  evidently  be 
glad  to  find  himself  in  error  touching  his  suspicions. 

"  Fairest  without  is  often  foulest  within,  Bigot,"  an 
swered  Cadet,  doggedly.  "  Open  speech  in  a  woman  is 
often  an  open  trap  to  catch  fools  !  Angelique  des  Meloises 
is  free  spoken  and  open-handed  enough  to  deceive  a  con- 
clave of  Cardinals  ;  but  she  has  the  lightest  heels  in  the 
city.  Would  you  not  like  to  see  her  dance  a  Ballet  de 
Triomphe  on  the  broad  flag-stone  I  laid  over  the  grave  of 
that  poor  girl }  If  you  would,  you  have  only  to  marry  her, 
and  she  will  give  a  ball  in  the  secret  chamber  !  " 
j  "  Be  still,  Cadet !  I  could  take  you  by  the  throat  for 
suggesting  it !  but  I  will  make  her  prove  herself  innocent !  " 
exclaimed  Bigot,  angry  at  the  cool  persistence  of  Cadet. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  try  it  to-day.  Bigot."  Cadet 
spoke  gravely  now.  "Let  the  dead  sleep,  and  let  all 
sleeping  dogs  and  bitches  lie  still.  Zounds !  we  are  in 
greater  danger  than  she  is  !  you  cantiot  stir  in  this  matter 
without  putting  yourself  in  her  power.  Angelique  has  got 
hold  of  the  secret  of  Caroline  and  of  die  Baron  de  St. 
Castin ;  what  if  she  clear  herself  by  accusing  you  ?  The 
king  would  put  you  in  the  Bastile  for  the  magnificent  lie 
you  told  the  Governor,  and  La  Pompadour  would  send 
you  to  the  Place  de  Grbve  when  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin 
reti  rned  with  the  bones  of  his  daughter,  dug  up  in  your 
chateau  I  " 

"  It  is  a  cursed  dilemma  I  "  Bigot  fairly  writhed  with 
peiplexity.  "  Dark  as  the  bottomless  pit,  turn  which  way 
we  will.  Angelique  knows  too  much,  that  is  clear ;  it  were 
a  charity  if  it  were  a  safe  thing,  to  kill  her  too,  Cadet ! " 
(  "  Not  t®  be  thought  of.  Bigot ;  she  is  too  much  in 
•very  man's  eye,  and  cannot  be  stowed  away  in  a  secret  cor- 


THE  INTEND  ANT'S  DILEMMA, 


S4S 


ner  like  her  poor  victim.  A  dead  silence  on  every  point  <A 
this  cursed  business  is  our  only  policy,  our  only  safety." 
Cadet  had  plenty  of  common  sense  in  the  rough,  and 
Bigot  was  able  to  appreciate  it. 

The  Intendaiit  strode  up  and  down  the  room  clenching 
his  hands  in  a  fury.  "  If  I  were  sure  !  sure  !  she  did  it  I 
I  would  kill  her  by  God  !  such  a  damnable  cruel  deed  as 
this  would  justify  any  measure  of  vengeance  !  "  exclaimed 
he  savagely. 

"  Pshaw !  not  when  it  would  all  rebound  upon  your- 
self. Besides,  if  you  want  vengeance,  take  a  man's  revenge 
upon  a  woman,  you  can  do  that !  It  will  be  better  than 
killing  her,  much  more  pleasant,  and  quite  as  effectual." 

Bigot  looked  as  Cadet,  said  this,  and  laughed  :  "  You 
would  send  her  to  the  Pare  aux  cerfs,  eh.  Cadet  ?  Par 
Dieu!  she  would  sit  on  the  throne  in  six  months*!  " 

*'  No,  I  do  not  mean  the  Pare  aux  cerfs,  but  the  Chat- 
eau of  Beaumanoir.  But  you  are  in  too  ill  humor  to  joke 
to-.^iy,  Bigot."  Cadet  resumed  his  pipe  with  an  air  of 
nonchalance. 

"  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  in  my  life.  Cadet  I  I 
feel  that  I  have  a  padlock  upon  every  one  of  my  five 
senses  ;  and  I  cannot  move  hand  or  foot  in  this  busi- 
ness ? '"  ' 

"Right,  Bigot,  do  not  move  hand,  or  foot,  eye,  or 
tongue,  in  it.  I  tell  you  the  slightest  whisper  of  Caroline's 
life  or  death  in  your  house,  reaching  the  ears  of  Philibert, 
or  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  will  bring  them  to  Beaumanoir  with 
warrants  to  search  for  her.  They  will  pick  the  chateau  to 
pieces  stone  byptone.  They  will  drag  Caroline  out  of  her 
grave,  and  the  whole  country  will  swear  you  murdered  her, 
and  that  I  helped  you,  an*i  with  appearances  so  strong 
against  us,  that  the  mothers  who  bore  us  would  not 
believe  in  our  innocence  !  Damn  the  women  !  The  bury- 
ing of  that  girl  was  the  best  deed  I  did  for  one  of  the  sex 
in  my  life,  but  it  will  be  the  worst,  if  you  breathe  one 
word  of  it  to  Ang^lique  des  Meloises,  or  to  any  other  per- 
son living.  I  am  not  ready  to  lose  my  head  yet,  Bigot, 
for  the  sake  of  any  woman,  or  even  for  you  !  "  •-  --^  • 

The  Intendant  was  staggered  by  the  vehemence  of 
Cadet,  and  impressed  by  the  force  of  his  remarks.  It  was 
hard  to  sit  down  quietly  and  condone  such  a  crime,  but  he 
•aw  clearly  the  danger  of  pushing  inquiry  in  any  direction 

35 


546  THE  CIIIEN  DOR. 

withouf  ♦^'••ning  suspicion  upon  himself.  He  boiled  with 
indignation.  He  fumed  and  swore  worse  than  his  wont 
when  angry,  but  Cadet  looked  on  quietly,  smoking  bis 
pipe,  waiting  foi  the  storm  to  c?Jm  down. 

"  You  were  never  in  a  woman's  clutches  so  tight 
before,  Bigot !  "  continued  Cadet.  "  If  you  let  La  Pompa- 
dour suspect  one  hair  of  your  head  in  this  matter,  she  will 
spin  a  cart  rope  out  of  it  that  will  drag  you  to  the  Place  de 
Grfeve. 

"  Reason  tells  me  that  what  you  say  is  true,  Cadet," 
replied  Bigot,  gloomily. 

,.;  "To  be  sure,  but  is  not  Angclique  a  clever  witch  to 
bind  Francois  Bigot  neck  and  heels  in  that  way,  after  fair- 
ly outwitting  and  running  him  down  ? " 

Cadet's  cool  comments  drove  Bigot  beside  himself.  "  I 
will  not  stand  it,  by  St.  Maur  1  she  shall  pay  for  all  this  I 
I  who  have  caught  women  all  my  life,  to  be  caught  by  one 
thus  1   she  shall  pay  for  it!  "  •-. 

"  Well,  make  her  pay  for  it  by  marrying  her  ! "  replied 
Cadet.  "  Par  Dieu  !  I  am  mistaken  if  you  have  not  got 
to  marry  her  in  the  end  !  I  would  marry  her  myself,  if  you 
do  not,  only  I  should  be  afraid  to  sleep  nights  !  I  might  be 
put  under  die  floor  before  morning  if  she  liked  another 
man  better  ! '  " 

Cadet  gave  way  to  a  feeling  of  hilarity  at  this  idea, 
shaking  his  sides  so  long  aiid  heartily  that  Bigot  caught 
the  infection,  and  joined  in  with  a  burst  of  sardonic  laugh- 
ter. 

Bigot's  laughter  was  soon  over,  he  sat  down  at  the  table 
again,  and  being  now  calm,  considered  the  whole  matter 
over,  point  by  point,  with  Cadet,  who,  though  coarse  and 
unprincipled,  was  a  shrewd  councillor  in  difficulties. 

It  was  determined  between  the  two  men  that  nothing 
whatever  should  be  said  of  the  assassination.  Bigot  should 
continue  his  gallantries  to  Angelique,  and  avoid  all  show 
of  suspicion  in  that  quarter.  He  should  tell  her  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  Caroline,  who  had  gone  away,  mysteriously 
as  she  came,  but  profess  absolute  ignorance  as  to  her 
fate. 

Angelique  would  be  equally  cautious  in  alluding  to  the 
murder ;  she  would  pretend  to  accept  all  his  s'^atements  as 
absolute  fact.  Her  tongue,  if  not  her  though..-,  would  be 
sealed  up  in  perpetual  silence  on  that  bloody  topic.    Bigot 


THE  INTRXDAiWrs  DILEMMA, 


547 


must  feed  her  with  hopes  of  marriage,  and  if  necessary,  set 
a  day  for  it,  far  enough  off  to  cover  all  the  time  to  be  taken 
up  in  the  search  after  Caroline. 

"I  will  never  marry  her,  Cadet  1  "  exclaimed  Bigot,  "  but 
will  make  her  regret  all  her  life  she  did  not  marry  me  I  '* 

"  Take  care.  Bigot !  It  is  dangerous  playing  with  fire 
you  don't  half  know  Ang(5lique.'* 

"  I  mean  she  shall  pull  the  chesnuts  out  of  the  fire  for 
me  with  her  pretty  fingers,  until  if  she  burn  them."  remark- 
ed Bigot,  gruffly. 

"  I  would  not  trust  her  too  far  !  In  all  seriousness,  yon 
have  but  the  choice  of  two  things,  Bigot,  marry  her  or  send 
her  to  the  convent."  "^. 

"  I  would  not  do  the  one,  and  I  could  not  do  the  other, 
Cadet,"  was  Bigot's  prompt  reply  to  this  suggestion. 

"  Tut !  Mere  Migeon  de  la  Nativitd  will  respect  your 
lettre  de  cachet^  and  provide  a  close,  comfortable  cell  for 
this  pretty  penitent  in   the  Ursulines,"  said  Cadet. 

"  Not  she.  Mere  Migeon  gave  me  one  of  her  parlor 
lectures  once,  and  I  care  not  for  another.  Egad,  Cadet ! 
she  made  me  the  nearest  of  being  ashamed  of  Francois 
Bigot  of  any  one  I  ever  listened  to  !  Could  you  have  seen 
her,  with  her  veil  thrown  back,  her  pale  face  still  paler 
with  indignation  ;  her  black  eyes  looking  still  blacker 
beneath  the  white  fillet  upon  her  forehead,  and  then  her 
tongue,  Cadet !  well,  I  withdrew  my  proposal  and  felt  my- 
self rather  cheapened  in  the  presence  of  Mere  Migeon." 

"Aye,  I  hear  she  is  clippt.  when  she  gets  a  sinner  by 
the  hair  !  What  was  the  proposal  you  made  to  her,  Bigot  ? " 
asked  Cadet,  smiling  as  if  he  knew. 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  worth  a  livre  to  make  such  a  row 
about  1  I  only  proposed  to  send  a  truant  damsel  to  the  con- 
vent to  repent  of  my  faults,  that  was  all !  Mere  Migeon 
fired  up,  *  she  would  not  be  gaoler  for  the  king,'  she  said. 
It  was  in  vain  I  talked  of  La  Vallicre.  and  threatened  her 
with  the  bishop  ;  she  set  me  at  defiance  and  bade  me 
go  marry  the  girl  inslcad  of  trying  to  make  a  nun  of 
her  1 " 

"  But  you  rarried  your  point,  did  you  not  ?  She  took  her 
in  at  last."    - 

"  Not  on  my  account,  Cadet,  Poor  Lucille  went  in  at 
last  of  her  own  accord.  The  sympathizing  nuns  all  cried 
over  her  and  pleaded  upon  their  knees  to  the  Mere  super- 


S4B 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


tor,  so  long  and  so  hard,  that  she  relented,  and  took  hci 
in.  But  Mere  Mi^eon  indignantly  refused  the  dowry  I 
offered  with  her.  Kly  little  nun  is  now  as  happy  as  a  lamb 
in  a  meadow,  and  I  think  as  innocent  ;  for  it  was  all  my 
fault,  Cadet,  was  that  adventure.  But  I  could  never  dis- 
pose of  Angelique  in  that  way,'  continued  the  Intendant 
with  a  shrug. 

"  Egad !  she  will  fool  any  man  faster  than  he  can  make 
a  fool  of  her  1  But  I  would  try  M^re  Migeon,  notwith- 
standing" replied,  Cadet,  "  she  is  the  only  one  to  break  in 
this  wild  filly  and  nail  her  tongue  fast  to  her  prayers  !  " 

"It  is  useless  trying.  They  know  Ang(f]ique  too  well. 
She  would  turn  the  Convent  out  of  the  windows  in  the 
time  of  a  nmvaine.  They  are  all  really  afraid  of  her !  " 
replied  Bigot. 

•'  Then  you  must  marry  her,  or  do  worse,  Bigot  I  see 
nothing  else  for  it,"  was  Cadet's  reply. 

"  Well,  I  will  do  worse,  if  worse  can  be ;  for  marry  her 
.    I  will  not  1  "  said  Bigot,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  is  understood,  then.  Bigot !  not  a  word,  a  hint,  a 
look  is  to  be  given  to  Angelique  regarding  your  suspicions 
of  her  complicity  in  mis  murder  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  understood.  The  secret  is  like  the  devil's 
tontine — he  catches  the  last  possessor  of  it." 

"I  expect  to  be  the  last,  then,  if  I  keep  in  your  com- 
^   pany.  Bigot,"  remarked  Cadet. 

^        Cadet  having  settled  this  point  to  his  mind,  reclined 

'back  in  his  easy  chair  and  smoked  on  in  silence  while  the 

Intendant  kept  walking  the  floor,  anxiously,  because  he 

saw  farther  than   his  companion  the  shadows  of   coming 

events. 

Sometimes  he  slopped  impatiently  at  the  window,  beat- 
ing a  tattoo  with  his  nails  on  the  polished  casement  as  he 
gazed  out  upon  the  beautiful /dir/tr/w  of  autumnal  flowers, 
beginning  to  shed  their  petals  around  the  gardens  of  the 
Palace.  He  looked  at  them  M'ithout  seeing  them.  All 
that  caught  his  eye  was  a  bare  rose  bush,  from  which  he 
remembered  he  had  plucked  some  white  roses,  which  he 
had  sent  to  Caroline  to  adorn  her  oratory  ;  and  he  thought 
of  her  face,  more  pale  and  delicate  than  any  rose  of  Prov- 
ence that  ever  bloomed.  His  thoughts  ran  violently  in 
two  parallel  streams  side  by  side,  neither  of  them  disap- 
pi.?.nng  for  a  moment   amid  the  crowd   of  other  affairs 


THE  iNTE.VDANrs  DILEMMA. 


549 


)ur  corn- 


that  pressed  upon  his  attention — tiic  murtler  of  Caroline 
tnd  the  perquisition  that  was  to  be  made  for  her  in  all 
quarters  of  the  colony — His  own  safety  was  too  deeply 
involved  in  any  discovery  that  miglu  be  made  respecting 
her,  to  allow  him  to  drop  the  su'oject  out  of  his  thought  for 
A  moment. 

liy  imjK)sing  absolute  silence  upon  himself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Angel ique,  touching  the  death  of  Caroline,  he 
might  impose  a  like  silence  upon  her  whom  he  could  not 
acquit  of  the  suspicion  of  having  prompted  the  murder. 
But  the  certainty  that  there  was  a  confederate  in  the  deed 
—a  woman,  too,  judging  by  the  fragment  of  writing  picked 
up  by  Cadet — tormented  him  with  endless  conjectures. 

Still  he  felt,  for  the  present,  secure  from  any  discovery 
on  that  side  ;  but  how  to  escape  from  the  sharp  inquisition 
of  two  men  like  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert.^ 
and  who  knew  how  far  the  secret  of  Beaumanoir  was  a 
secret  any  longer  ?  It  was  known  to  two  women  at  any 
rate,  and  no  woman,  in  Bigot's  estimation  of  the  sex,  would 
long  keep  a  secret  which  concerned  another  and  not  her- 
self. 

"  Our  greatest  danger,  Cadet,  lies  there  ! "  continued  the 
Intendant,  stopping  in  his  walk  and  turning  suddenly  to 
his  friend.  "  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert  are 
commissioned  by  the  Governor  to  search  for  that  girl 
They  will  not  leave  a  stone  unturned,  a  corner  unran 
sacked  in  New  France.  They  will  find  out  through  the 
Hurons  and  my  own  servants  that  a  woman  has  been  con- 
cealed in  Beaumanoir.  They  will  suspect,  if  they  do  not 
discover,  who  she  was.  They  will  not  find  her  on  earth — 
they  will  look  for  her  under  the  earth.  And,  by  St.  Mauri 
it  makes  me  quake  to  think  of  it,  Cadet,  for  the  discovery 
will  be  utter  ruin  !  They  may  al  lasL  dig  up  her  murdered 
remains  in  my  own  chateau  1  As  you  said,  the  Bastile  and 
the  Place  de  Greve  would  be  my  portion,  and  ruin  yours 
and  that  of  all  our  associates." 

Cadet  held  up  his  pipe  as  if  appeallngly  to  Heaven 
**It  is  a  (-ursed  reward  for  our  charitable  night's  work, 
Bigot,"  said  he.  "Better  you  had  never  lied  about  the 
girl.  We  ( oald  have  brazened  it  out  or  fought  it  out  with 
the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  or  any  man  in  France  I  That  lie 
will  convict  us  if  found  out !  " 

"  Pshaw  1  the  lie  was  a  necessity,"  answered  Bigot,  ia»' 


550 


THE  CItlEhf  D'Ok. 


i  |y ; 


m 


patiently.  "  But  who  could  have  dreamed  of  its  leading  ui 
such  a  dance  as  it  has  done  !  Par  DUu  /  I  have  not  often 
lied  except  to  women,  and  such  lies  do  not  count  I  But  I 
had  better  have  stuck  to  truth  in  this  matter,  Cadet.  I 
acknowledge  that  now."  -^  i%      as   ,  5vu. 

"  Especially  with  La  Pompadour !  She  is  a  >Koman. 
It  is  dangerous  to  lie  to  her — at  least  about  other  women." 

"  Well,  Cadet,  it  is  useless  blessing  the  Pope  or  ban- 
ning the  Devil  1  We  are  in  for  it,  and  we  must  meet  La 
Corne  St.  Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert  as  warily  as  we  can.  I 
have  been  thinking  of  making  safe  ground  for  us  to  stand 
upon,  as  the  trappers  do  on  the  great  prairies,  by  kindling 
a  fire  in  front  to  escape  from  the  fire  in  the  rear  I  " 

"  What  is  that.  Bigot  ?  I  could  fire  the  chateau  rather 
than  be  tracked  out  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert,"  said 
Cadet,  sitting  upright  in  his  chair. 

"  What,  burn  the  chateau  !  "  answered  Bigot.  "  You 
are  mad,  Cadet !  No ;  but  it  were  well  to  kindle  such  a 
smoke  about  the  eyes  of  La  Corne  and  Philibert  that  they 
will  need  to  rub  them  to  ease  thi:ir  own  pain  instead  of 
looking  for  poor  Caroline." 

"  How,  Bigot  ?  V/ill  you  challenge  and  fight  them  ? 
That  will  not  avert  suspicion  but  increase  it !  "  remarked 
Cadet. 

"  Well,  you  will  see  !  A  man  will  need  as  many  eyes 
as  Argus  to  discover  our  hands  in  this  business. 

Cadet  started,  without  conjecturing  what  the  Intendant 
contemplated.  "  You  will  kill  the  bird  that  tells  tales  on 
us.  Bigot — is  that  it } "  added  he. 

"  I  mean  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  Cadet  1  Hark 
.you ;  I  will  tell  you  a  scheme  shall  put  a  stop  to  these 
perquisitions  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert — the  only  two 
men  I  fear  in  the  colony — and  at  the  same  time  deliver  me 
from  the  everlasting  bark  and  bite  of  the  Golden  Dog  ! " 

Bigot  led  Cadet  to  the  vindow,  and  poured  in  his  ear 
the  burning  passions  which  were  fermenting  in  his  own 
breast.  He  propounded  a  scheme  of  deliverance  for  him- 
self and  of  crafty  vengeance  upon  the  Philiberts,  which 
would  turn  the  thoughts  of  every  one  away  from  the  chateau 
of  Beaumanoir  and  the  missing  Caroline,  into  a  new  stream 
of  public  and  private  troubles,  amid  the  confusion  of  which 
he  would  escape,  and  his  present  dangers  be  overlooked 
and  forgotten  in  a  great  catastrophe  that  might  upset  the 


If 


"  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE,  A'C."  55 1 

colony,  but  at  any  rate  it  would  free  Bigot  from  his  embar- 
rassments and  perhaps  inaugurate  a  now  reign  of  public 
plunder  and  the  suppression  of  the  whole  part)  of  tho 
Hvnnetes  Gens, 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


**l   WILL   FEED   FAT   THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE   I    BEAR   HIM." 


THE  Treaty  of  Aix  La  Chapelle,  so  long  tossed  about 
on  the  waves  of  war,  was  finally  signed  in  the  beginning 
of  October.  A  swift-sailing  goelette  of  Dieppe  brought  the 
tidings  to  New  France,  and  in  the  early  nights  of  Novem- 
ber, from  Quebec  to  Montreal.  Bonfires  on  every  headland 
blazed  over  the  broad  river  ;  churches  were  decorated  with 
evergreens,  and  te  deums  sung  in  gratitude  for  the  return  of 
peace  and  security  to  the  colony. 

New  France  came  out  of  the  struggle  scathed  and 
scorched  a;  by  fire,  but  unshorn  of  territory  or  territorial 
rights  ;  and  the  glad  colouisls  forgot  and  forgave  the  terri- 
ble sacrifices  they  had  made  in  the  universal  joy  that  their 
country,  their  religion,  language,  and  laws  were  still  safe 
under  the  Crown  of  France,  with  the  white  banner  still 
floating  over  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

On  the  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  Dieppe  goelette^ 
bringing  the  news  of  peace,Bigot  sat  before  his  desk,  reading 
his  despatches  and  letters  from  France,  when  the  Chevalier 
de  Pean  entered  the  room  with  a  bundle  of  papers  in  hi% 
hand,  brought  to  the  palace  by  the  Chief  Clerk  of  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert,  for  the  Intendant's  signature. 

The  Bourgeois,  in  the  course  of  his  great  commercial 
dealings,  got  possession  of  innumerable  orders  upon  the 
Royal  Treasury,  which  in  due  course  had  to  be  presented 
to  the  Intendant  for  his  official  signature.  The  signing  ot 
these  Treasury  orders  in  favor  of  the  Bourgeois,  never  failed 
to  throw  Bigot  into  a  fit  of  ill-humor. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  sat  down  muttering  ten 
thousand  curses  upon  the  Bourgeois,  as  he  glanced  over 
the  papers  with  knitted  eyebrows  and  teeth  set  hard  to- 
gether.    He  signed  the  mass  of  orders  and  drafts  ruadt 


-■^.:^. 


5S« 


77/iff  cm  EN  DOR. 


Hi 


% 


payable  to  Niclinlas  Phillbert,  and  when  done,  threw  Into 
the  fire  the  pen  which  had  performed  so  unwelcome  an 
office.  Bigot  sent  for  the  Chief  Clerk  who  had  brought 
the  bills  and  orders,  and  who  waited  for  them  in  the  ante- 
jhambpf.  "  Tell  your  master,  the  Bourgeois,"  said  he, 
that  for  this  time,  and  only  to  prevent  loss  to  the  foolish 
officers,  the  Intcndant  has  signed  these  army  jills  ;  but 
that  if  he  purchase  more,  in  defiance  of  the  sole  right  of 
the  Grand  Company,  I  shall  not  sign  them.  This  shall  be 
vhe  last  time,  tell  him  !  " 

The  Chief  CleH'  a  sturdy,  grey-haired  Malouin^  was 
nothing  daunted  by  the  angry  look  of  the  Intendant.  "  I 
shall  inform  the  Bourgeois  of  your  Excellency's  wishes," 
said  he,  '*  and — " 

"  Inform  him.  of  my  commands ! "  exclaimed  Bigot, 
sharply.  "  What !  have  you  more  to  say  ?  But  you  would 
not  be  the  Chief  Clerk  of  the  Bourgeois  without  possessing 
a  good  stock  of  his  insolence  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  your  Excellency !  "  replied  the  Chief 
Clerk,  "I  was  only  going  to  observe  that  His  Excellency 
the  Governor  and  the  Commander  of  the  Forces,  both, 
have  decided  that  the  officers  may  transfer  their  warrants 
to  whomsoever  they  will." 

"  You  are  a  bold  fellow,  with  your  Breton  speech  !  but 
by  all  the  saints  in  Saintonge  !  I  will  see  whether  the 
Royal  Intendant  or  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  shall  control 
this  matter  !     And  as  for  you — " 

"Tut !  cave  canem  !  let  this  cur  go  back  to  his  master," 
interrupted  Cadet,  amused  at  the  coolness  of  the  Chief 
Clerk.  "  Hark  you,  fellow  !  "  said  he,  "  present  my  com- 
f)liments — the  Sieur  Cadet's  compliments — to  your  master, 
and  tell  him  I  hope  he  will  bring  his  next  batch  of  army 
bills  himself,  and  remind  him  that  it  is  soft  falling  at  low 
tide  out  of  the  windows  of  the  Friponnef" 

"  I  shall  certainly  advise  my  master  not  to  come  him- 
self, Sieur  Cadet,"  replied  the  Chief  Clerk ;  "  and  I  am 
very  certain  of  re^^urning  in  three  days  with  more  army 
bills  for  the  signature  of  His  Excellency  the  Intendant." 

"  Get  out,  you  fool  I  "  shouted  Cadet,  laughing  at  what 
he  regarded  the  insolence  of  the  Clerk.  "  You  are  worthy 
of  your  master !  "  And  Cadet  pushed  him  forcibly  out  of 
the  door,  and  shut  it  after  him  with  a  bang  that  resounded 
through  the  palace. 


•  /  WILL  FEED  FA  V  TIIR  A  .VCiE/VT  GKUDGS,  &»€.**  553 


"  Don't  be  angry  at  him,  Bigot  j  he  is  not  worth  it,** 
•aid  Cadet.  '  liike  master  like  man,'  as  the  proverb  sajrs* 
And,  after  all,  I  doxihi  .vhcther  the  furred  law  cats  of  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  would  not  uphold  the  Bourgeois  in  an 
appeal  to  them  from  the  Golden  Dog."' 

Big' ..  was  exress'vcly  irritated,  for  he  was  lawyer 
er.ougli  i-^  know  that  Cadet's  fear  was  well  founded.  He 
walked  u^)  cind  down  his  cabinet,  venting  curses  upon  the 
heads  of  the  whole  party  of  the  tlonnetes  Gens^  the  Gover- 
nor and  Commander  of  the  Forces  included.  The  Mar- 
quise de  Pompadour,  too,  came  in  for  a  full  share  of  his 
maledictions,  for  Bigot  knew  that  she  had  forced  the  sign- 
ing of  the  treaty  of  Aix  La  Chapelle — influenced  less  by 
the  exhaustion  of  France  than  by  a  feminine  dislike  to 
camp  life,  which  she  had  shared  with  the  King,  and  a 
resolution  to  withdraw  him  back  to  the  gayeties  of  the 
Capital,  where  he  would  be  wholly  under  her  own  eye  and 
influence. 

"  She  prefers  love  to  honor,  as  all  women  do  !"  remarked 
Bigot ;  "  and  likes  money  better  than  either.  The  Grand 
Company  pays  the  fiddlers  for  the  xo^-^  fetes  at  Versailles, 
while  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  skims  the  cream  off  the  trade 
of  the  colony.  This  peace  will  increase  his  power  and 
make  his  influence  double  what  it  is  already  I  " 

"  Egad  !  Bigot,"  replied  Cadet,  who  sat  near  him,  smok- 
ing a  large  pipe  of  tobacco.  "  You  speak  like  a  preacher 
in  Lent.  We  have  hitherto  buttered  our  bread  on  both 
sides,  but  the  Comp;  «iy  will  soon,  I  fear,  have  no  bread  to 
butter !  I  doubt  we  i.hall  have  to  eat  your  decrees^  which 
will  be  the  only  things  left  in  the  possession  of  the  Frip- 
onne !  " 

**  My  decrees  have  been  hard  to  digest  for  some  people 
who  think  they  will  now  eat  us.  Look  at  that  pile  of 
orders.  Cadet,  in  favor  of  the  Golden  Dog ! " 

The  Intendant  hau  long  regarded  with  indignation  the 
ever  increasing  trade  and  influence  of  the  Bourgeois  Phili- 
bert, who  had  become  the  great  banker  as  well  as  the  great 
merchant  of  the  Colony,  able  to  meet  the  Grand  Company 
itself  upon  its  own  ground,  and  fairly  divide  with  it  the 
interior  as  well  as  the  exterior  commerce  of  the  colony. 

"Where  is  this  thing  going  to  end  ?  "  exclaimed  Bigot, 
sweeping  from  him  the  pile  of  bills  of  exchange  that  lay 
upon  the  table      '    :  hai  Philibert  is  gaining  ground  upon 


S54 


THE  cHiEN  lyon. 


Il 


.  %  Mi 


:ji< 


us  every  day  !  He  is  now  buying  up  army  bills,  and  eve»? 
the  King's  officers  are  flocking  to  him  with  their  ceraH> 
cates  of  pay  and  drafts  on  France,  which  he  cashes  at  hil 
the  discount  rharged  by  the  Company  !  " 

"Give  til  uised  papers  to  the  clerk  and  send  him  iff, 
De  Pean  I  "  said  Bigot. 

De  Pean  obeyed-  with  a  grimace,  and  returned. 

"  This  thing  must  be  stopped  and  shall  I  "  continued 
the  Intendant  savagely. 

"  That  is  true,  your  Excellency,"  said  De  Pean.  "  And 
we  have  tried  vigorously  to  stop  the  evil,  but  so  far  in  vain. 
The  Governor  and  the  Honnetes  Gens,  and  too  many  of  the 
officers  themselves,  countenance  his  opposition  to  the  Com- 
pany. The  Bourgeois  draws  a  good  bill  upon  Paris  and 
Bordeaux  ;  and  they  are  fast  finding  it  out." 

"  The  Golden  Dog  is  drawing  half  the  money  of  the 
colony  into  his  coffers,  and  he  will  blow  up  the  credit  of 
the  Friponne  some  fine  day  when  we  least  expect  it,  unless 
he  be  chained  up,"  replied  Bigot. 

"  *  A  mechant  chien  court  iien,*  says  the  proverb,  and  so 
say  I,"  replied  Cadet.  "  The  Golden  Dog  has  barked  at 
us  for  a  long  time^^^r  dieu  1  he  bites  now  1 — ere  long  he 
will  gnaw  our  bones  in  reality  as  he  does  in  effigy,  upon 
that  cursed  tablet  in  the  Rue  Buade." 

"  F'tjy  dog  has  his  day,  and  the  Golden  Dog  has  nearly 
bad  lii*!j  Cadet.     But  what  do  you  advise  ? "  asked  Bigot. 

"  Ha.ig  him  up  with  a  short  rope  and  a  shorter  shrift, 
Bigot !  You  have  warrant  enough  if  your  court  friends  are 
worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff." 

"  But  they  are  not  worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff,  Cadet. 
If  I  hung  the  Bourgeois  there  would  be  such  a  cry  raised 
among  the  Honrwtes  Gens  in  the  colony,  and  the  whole 
tribe  of  Jansenists  in  France,  that  I  doubt  whether  even 
the  power  of  the  Marquise  could  sustain  me." 

Cadet  looked  quietly  truculent.  He  drew  Bigot  aside. 
**  There  are  more  ways  than  one  to  choke  a  dog,  Bigot," 
said  he.  "  You  may  put  a  tight  collar  outside  his  throat 
or  a  sweetened  roll  inside  of  it.  Some  course  must  l?e 
found,  and  that  promptly.  We  shall,  before  many  days, 
have  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  young  Philibert,  like  a  couple 
of  stag  hounds  in  full  cry,  at  our  heels,  about  that  business 
at  the  chateau.  They  must  be  thrown  off  that  scent,  come 
what  will,  Bigot ! " 


♦a, 


ready  to  strip  and  sr 
murderess  of  Carol 
with  a  lie,  and  had  t 
concealments.     He 
jealously  watching  hi. 


•  /  WtLL  FEED  FA  T  THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE,**  ^*C,  ^^^ 

The  pressure  of  time  and  circumstance  was  drawing 
a  narrower  circle  round  the  Irtendant.  The  advent  of 
peac«  would,  he  believed,  inaugural'^  a  personal  war  against 
himself.  The  murder  of  Caroline  was  a  hard  blow,  and 
th  -  necessity  of  concealing  it  irritated  him  with  a  sense  of 
fiear,  foreign  to  his  character. 

His  suspicion  of  Angdlique  tormented  him  day  and 
night.  He  had  loved  Ang^lique  in  a  sensual,  admiring 
way,  without  one  grain  of  real  respect.  He  worshipped 
her  one  moment  as  thr  Aphrodite  of  his  fancy;  he  was 

;i:,,o  her  the  next  as  the  possible 
Hut  Bigot  had  fettered  himself 
Ms  thousjhts  under  degradin^;. 
Marquise  de  Pompadour  was 
-ifar.  The  sharpest  intellects- 
and  most  untiring  men  in  ih  .■  colony  were  commissioned  to 
find  out  the  truth  regarding  the  fate  of  Caroline.  Bigot 
was  like  a  stag  brought  to  bay.  An  ordinary  man  would 
have  succumbed  in  despair,  but  the  very  desperation  of  his 
position  stirred  up  the  Intendant  to  a  greater  effort  to  free 
himself.  He  cared  nothing  for  the  morality  or  immorality 
of  any  course,  if  it  only  ensured  success  and  brought 
safety! 

He  walked  gloomily  up  and  down  the  room,  absorbed 
in  deep  thought.  Cadet,  who  guessed  what  was  brooding 
in  his  mind,  made  a  sign  to  De  Pean  to  wait  and  see  what 
would  be  the  result  of  his  cogitations.  '^■ 

Bigot,  gesticulating  with  his  right  hand  and  his  left, 
went  on  balancing,  as  in  a  pair  of  scales,  the  chances  of 
success  or  failure  in  the  blow  he  meditated  against  the 
Golden  Dog.  A  blow  which  would  scatter  to  the  winds  the 
inquisition  set  on  foot  to  discover  the  hiding-place  of  Caro- 
line. 

He  stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk,  £t»-iking  both  hands 
together,  as  if  in  sign  of  some  resolution  arrived  at  in  his 
thoughts. 

"De  Pean!"  said  he;  "has  Le  Gardeur  de  Repen- 
tigny  shown  any  desire  yet  to  break  out  of  the  palace  ? " 

"  None,  your  Excellency.  He  is  fixed  as  a  bridge  to 
fortune.  You  can  no  more  break  him  down  than  the  Pont 
Neuf2X  Paris.  He  lost,  last  night,  a  thousand  at  cards 
and  five  hundred  at  dice  ;  then  drank  himself  dead  drunk 
until  three  o'clock  this  afternoon.     He  has  just  risen  ;  his 


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55$         '  THE  CHIEN DOR. 

valet  was  washing  his  head  and  feet  in  brandy  when  I  came 
here." 

^  You  are  a  friend  that  sticks  closer  than  a  bcother, 
De  Fean.  Le  Gardeur  believes  in  you  as  his  guardian 
angel,  does  he  not  ? "  asked  Bigot,  with  a  sneer. 

"  When  he  is  drunk  he  does/'  replied  De  Pean ;  "when 
he  is  sober  I  care  not  to  approach  him  too  nearly  I  He  is 
a  wild  colt  that  will  kick  his  groon.  when  rubbed  the  wrong 
way ;  and  every  way  is  wrong  when  the  wine  is  out  of 
him."  j^ 

"  Keep  him  full  then !  "  exclaimed  Bigot, "  you  have  groom 
ed  him  well,  De  Pean  I  but  he  must  now  be  saddled  and 
ridden  to  hunt  down  the  biggest  stag  in  New  France !  " 

De  Pean  looked  hard  at  the  Intendant,  only  half  compre- 
hending his  allusion,  "  You  once  tried  your  hand  with  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Repentigny  did  you  not  ? "  continued  Bigot — 

"  I  did,  your  Excellency  ?  but  that  bunch  of  grapes  was 
too  high  for  me.     They  are  very  sour  now." 

"  Sly  fox  that  you  were  ?  Well,  do  not  call  them  sour 
yet,  De  Pean.  Another  jump  at  the  vine  and  you  may  reach 
that  bunch  of  perfection  I "  said  Bigot,  looking  hard  at  him. 

"  Your  Excellency  overrates  my  ability  in  that  quarter  and 
if  I  were  permitted  to  choose — " 

"  Another  and  a  fairer  maid  would  be  your  choice.  I  see, 
De  Pean,  you  are  a  connoisseur  in  women.  Be  it  as  you 
wish !  manage  this  business  of  Philibert  discreetly  and  I 
will  coin  the  Golden  Dog  Into  doubloons  for  a  marriage 
portion  for  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  ?  You  Understand  me 
now  ? " 

De  Pean  started.  He  hardly  guessed  yet  what  was 
reqiired  of  him,  but  he  cared  not  in  the  dazzling  prospect 
of  such  a  wife  and  fortune,  as  were  thus  held  out  to  him. 

"Your  Excellency  will  really  support  my  suit  with 
Ang^lique  ?  "  De  Pean  seemed  to  mistrust  the  possibility  of 
such  a  piece  of  disinterestedness  on  the  part  of  the  In- 
tendant. 

"I  will  not  only  commend  your  suit,  but  I  will  give 
away  the  bride,  and  Madame  De  Pean  shall  not  miss  any 
favor  from  me  which  she  has  deserved  as  Ang^lique  aea 
Meloises," — was  Bigot's  reply  without  changing  a  muscle  of 
hi$  face.  ^  4. 

"  And  your  Excellency  wi'I  ^st  her  to  me  ? "  De  Pean 
could  hardly  believe  bis  ears. 


■JiV 


•  /  WIZL  FEED  FA T  THE  AI^CIENT GRUDGE**  ^C  559 

**  Assuredly  you  shall  have  her  if  you  like,"  cried  Bigots 
**  and  with  a  dowry  as  has  not  been  seen  in  New  France  I " 

**  But  who  would  like  to  have  her  at  any  piice  ? "  muttered 
Cadet  to  himself,  with  a  quiet  smile  of  contempt — Cadet 
thought  De  Pean  a  fool  for  jumping  at  a  hook  baii^  with  a 
woman,  but  he  knew  what  the  Intendant  was  driving  at 
and  admired  the  skill  with  which  he  angled  for  De  Pean  I 
'*  But  Ang^lique  may  not  consent  to  this  disposal  of  her 
hand,"  replied  De  Pean  with  an  uneasy  look,  "  I  should  be 
afraid  of  your  gift  unless  she  believed  that  she  took  me, 
and  not  I  her." 

"  Hark  you,  de  Pean  I  you  do  not  know  what  women 
like  her  are  made  of,  or  you  would  be  at  no  loss  how  to 
bait  your  hook  1  You  have  made  four  millions  they  say,  out 
of  this  war,  if  not  more  1 " 

**  I  never  counted  it,  your  Excellency,  but  much  or  little 
I  owe  it  all  to  your  friendship,"  replied  De  Pean  with  a 
touch  of  mock  humility. 

"  My  friendship !  Well,  so  be  it.  It  is  enough  to  make 
Angelique  des  Meloises  Madame  De  Pean  when  she  finds 
she  cannot  be  Madame  Intendant.  Do  you  see  your  way 
now,  De  Pean ! " 

"Yes,  your  Excellency,  and  I  cannot  be  sufficiently 
grateful  for  such  a  proof  of  your  goodness."  Bigot  laughed 
a  dry  meaning  laugh.  "  J  truly  hope  you  will  always 
think  so  of  my  friendship,  De  Pean  I  If  you  do  not,  you 
are  not  the  man  I  take  you  to  be  ?  now  for  our  scheme  of 
deliverance ! " 

\  "Hearken,  De  Pean," continued  the  Intendant  fixing 
his  dark  fiery  eyes  upon  his  secretary,  you  have  craft  and 
cunning  to  work  out  this  design  and  good  will  to  hasten  it 
on.  Cadet  and  I  considering  the  necessities  of  ihe  Grand 
Company  have  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  the  rivalry  and 
arrogance  of  the  Golden  Dog.  We  will  treat  the  Bourgeois," 
Bigot  smiled  meaningly,  "  not  as  a  trader  with  a  baton,  but 
as  a  gentleman  with  a  sword ;  for  although  a  merchant,  the 
Bourgeois  is  noble  and  wears  a  s\ford  which  under  proper 
provocation  he  will  draw,  and  remember  he  can  use  it  too  1 
He  can  be  tolerated  no  longer  by  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Company.  They  have  often  pressed  me  in  vain  to  take  this 
step,  but  I  now  yield.  Hark,  De  Pean  !  The  Bourgeois  must 
be  insulted^  challenged  and  killed  by  some  gentleman  of  the 
Company,  with  courage  and  skill  enough  to  champion  iti 


mi 


558  THE  CiflEI^  CtOR. 

rights.  But  mind  you !  it  must  be  done  fairly  and  in  open 
day  and  without  my  knowledge  or  approval  I  Do  yoa 
understand  ? " 

Bigot  winked  at  De  Pean  and  smiled  furtively  as  nucb 
as  to  say :  "  You  know  how  to  interpret  my  words  1" 

'^  I  understand  your  Excellency !  and  it  shall  be  nc 
fault  of  mine  if  your  wishes,  which  chime  with  my  own,  be 
not  carried  out  before  many  days.  A  dozen  partn'ers  of  the 
Company  will  be  proud  to  fight  with  the  Bourgeois  if  he 
will  only  fight  with  them." 

"  No  fear  of  that,  De  Pean  I  give  the  devil  his  due.  Insult 
the  Bourgeois  and  he  will  fight  with  the  seven  champions  of 
Christendom !  so  mind  you  get  a  man  able  for  him !  for  I  tell 
you,  De  Pean,  I  doubt  if  there  be  over  three  gentlemen  in 
the  colony  who  could  cross  swords  fairly  and  successfully 
with  the  Bourgeois." 

"It  will  be  easier  to  insult  and  kill  him  in  a  chance 
medley  than  to  risk  a  duel ! "  interrupted  Cadet,  who  list- 
ened with  intense  eagerness.  "  I  tell  you,  Bigot  I  young 
Philibert  will  pink  any  man  of  our  party.  If  there  be  a 
duel  he  will  insist  on  fighting  it  for  his  father.  The  old 
Bourgeois  will  not  be  caught,  but  we  shall  catch  a  tartar 
instead  in  the  young  one." 

"  Well  duel  or  chance  medley  be  it !  I  dare  not  have 
him  assassinated,"  replied  the  Intendant,  **  He  must  be 
fought  with  in  open  day  and  not  killed  in  a  corner.  Eb, 
Cadet  !  am  I  not  right  ? " 

Bigot  looked  for  approval  from  Cadet,  who  saw  th&: 
was  thinking  of  the  secret  chamber  at  Beaumanoir. 

"  You  are  right,  Bigot !  He  must  be  killed  in  open  day 
and  not  in  a  corner.  But  who  have  we  among  us  capable  of 
making  sure  work  of  the  Bourgeois  ? " 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  replied  De  Pean  1 "  I  know  one  partner 
of  the  company  who  if  I  can  get  him  in  harness  will  run  our 
chariot  wheels  in  triumph  over  the  Golden  Dog." 

"  And  who  is  that  ? "  asked  Bigot  eagerly. 

"  La  (xardeur  de  Rep  ;ntigny ! "  exclaimed  De  Pean, 
with  a  look  of  exultation.  v 

"  Pshaw !  he  would  draw  upon  us  more  readily  I  Why 
he  is  bewitched  with  the  Philiberts  I  "  replied  Bigot. 

'*  I  shall  find  means  to  break  the  spell  long  enough  to 
answer  our  purpose,  your  Excellency  I "  replied  De  Peaa 
•*  Permit  me  only  to  take  my  own  way  with  him."  -     * 


\ 


■  ■«, 


•  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE,'*  ^C  55^ 

"  Assuredly,  take  your  own  way,  De  Pean  t  A  bloody 
scuffle  between  De  Kepentigny  and  the  Bourgeois,  would 
not  only  be  a  victory  for  the  company  but  woiUd  break  up 
the  whole  partv  of  the  Homneia  Getu/" 

The  Intendant  slapped  De  Pean  on  the  shoulder  and 
shook  him  by  the  hand.  "  You  are  more  clever  than  I 
believed  you  to  be,  De  Pean.  You  have  hit  on  a  mode  of 
ric^^nce  which  will  entitle  you  to  the  best  reward  in  the 
power  of  the  company  to  bestow/' 

**  My  best  reward  will  be  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise^ 
your  Excellency,"  answered  De  Pean. 

"  I  will  keep  my  word,  De  Pean !  By  God  you  shall 
have  Ang^Iique  with  such  a  dowry  as  the  company  can 
alone  give !  or  if  you  do  not  want  the  girl,  you  shall  have 
the  dowry  without  the  wife ! " 

"I  shall  claim  both,  your  Excellency  I  but—" 

"  But  what?  confess  all  your  doubts,  De  Pean  ! " 

**  Le  Gardeur  may  claim  her  as  his  own  reward  1 "  De 
Pean  guessed  correctly  enough  the  true  bent  of  Ang^lique's 
fancy. 

*^  No  fear  1  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  drunk  or  sober  is 
a  gentleman.  He  would  reject  the  princess  d'Elide  were 
she  offered  on  such  conditions  as  you  take  her  on.  He  is 
a  romantic  fool ;  he  believes  in  woman's  virtue  and  all  that 
stuffl" 

'*  Besides  if  he  kill  the  Bourgeois  he  will  have  to  fight 
Pierre  Philibert  before  his  sword  is  dry  I "  interjected 
Cadet  *'  I  would  not  give  a  Dutch  stiver  for  Le  Gardeur's 
bones  five  hours  after  he  has  pinked  the  Bourgeois  i  " 

The  prospect,  nay,  the  certainty  of  a  second  duel 
between  Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre  Philibert,  should  the 
Bdurgeois  be  killed,  satisfied  all  the  doubts  of  De  Pean, 
who  felt  himself  secure  in  the  reversion  of  Ang^lique  and 
the  rich  dowry  promised  by  the  Intendant. 

They  were  now  all  eager  to  set  on  foot  the  diabolical 
scheme  of  murder.  These  thorough  men  of  the  age,  glossed 
over  it  as  a  legitimate  compromise  between  honor  and 
necessity.  The  Bourgeois  was  to  be  killed,  but  in  a  way 
to  reflect  no  discredit  either  upon  the  contrivers  of  his 
death  or  upon  the  unwitting  instrument  selected  to  accom- 
plish  it. 

An  open  duel  in  form  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  because 
in  that  they  would  have  to  fight  the  son  and  not  the  father, 


i  / 


^60  THE  ClflEff  lyOR. 

and  the  great  object  would  be  frustrated.  But  the  Bmu** 
geois  might  be  killed  in  a  sudden  fray,  when  blood  was  up 
and  swords  drawn,  when  no  one,  "as  De  Pean  remarked,^ 
would  be  able  to  find  an  /undotted  or  a  7"  uncrossed  in  a 
fair  record  of  the  transaction,  which  would  impose  upon 
the  most  critical  judge  as  an  honorable  and  justifiable  act 
of  self  defence  I 

This  was  Cadet's  real  intent,  and  perhaps  Bigot'sjj^ut 
the  Intendant's  thoughts  lay  at  unfathomable  depths,  and 
were  not  to  be  discovered  by  any  traces  upon  the  surface. 
No  divining  rod  could  tell  where  the  secret  spring  lay  hid 
which  ran  under  Bigot's  motives. 

Not  so  De  Pean.  He  meditated  treachery  and  it  were 
hard  to  say,  whether  it  was  unnoted  by  the  penetrating 
eye  of  Bigot.  The  Intendant,  however,  did  not  interfere 
farther,  either  by  word  or  sign,  but  left  De  Pean  to  accom- 
plish in  his  own  way  the  bloody  object  they  all  had  in 
view,  namely,  the  death  of  the  Bourgeois  and  the  break  up 
of  the  Honnetes  Gens,  De  Pean,  while  resolving  to  make 
Le  Gardeur  the  tool  of  his  wickedness,  did  not  dare  to  take 
him  into  his  confidence.  He  had  to  be  kept  in  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  part  he  was  to  play  in  the  bloody  tragedy 
until  the  moment  of  its  denouement  arrived.  Meantime  he 
must  be  plied  with  drink,  maddened  with  jealousy,  made 
desperate  with  losses  and  at  war  with  himself  and  all  the 
world,  and  then  the  whole  fury  of  his  rage  should  by  the 
artful  contrivance  of  De  Pean  be  turned  without  a  minutes 
time  for  reflection,  upon  the  head  of  the  unsuspecting 
Bourgeois.  -^  xt Jli;  ^-i^joil  -ym  «?^ 

To  accomplish  this  successfully,  a  woman's  aid  was 
required,  at  once  to  blind  Le  Gardeur  and  to  sharpen  his 
sword. 

In  the  interests  of  the  company  Angdlique  des  Meloises 
was  at  all  times  a  violent  partizan.  The  Golden  Dog  and 
all  its  belonging^  were  objects  of  her  open  aversion.  But 
De  Pean  feared  to  impart  to  her  his  intention  to  push  Le 
Gardeur  blindly  into  the  affair.  She  might  fear  for  the 
life  of  one  she  loved.  De  Pean  reflected  angrily  on  thjs, 
but  he  determined  she  should  be  on  the  spot.  The  sight 
of  her  and  a  word  from  her,  which  De  Pean  would  prompt 
at  the  critical  moment,  should  decide  Le  Gardeur  to  attack 
the  Bourgeois  and  kill  him  !  and  then,  what  would  follow  ? 
De  Pean  rubbed  his  hands  with  ecstasy  at  the  thought  that 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PIllUBERT.  |ftt 

Le  Gardeur  wousi  inevitably  bite  the  dust  under  the 
avenging  hand  of  Pierre  Philibert,  and  Ang^lique  would  be 
his  beyond  all  fear  of  rivals. 


CHAPTER  L. 

mm-l  ivi*!  ♦  XHE  BOURGEOIS  PHILIBERT. 

THE  Bourgeois  Philibert  after  an  arduous  day's  work 
was  enjoying  in  his  arm  chair  a  quiet  siesta  in  the  old 
comfortable  parlor  of  his  city  home. 

The  sudden  advent  of  peace  had  opened  the  seas  to 
commerce,  and  a  fleet  of  long  shut  up  merchantmen  were 
rapidly  loading  at  the  quays  of  the  Friponne  as  well  as  at 
those  of  the  Bourgeois,  with  the  products  of  the  Colony 
for  shipment  to  France  before  the  closing  in  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  by  ice.  The  summer  of  St.  Martin  was  linger- 
ing soft  and  warm  on  the  edge  of  winter,  and  every  avail- 
able man,  including  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  were  busy 
loading  the  ships  to  get  them  off  in  time,  to  escape  the 
hard  nip  of  winter.  ^*  "^   -  <'M    - 

51  Dame  Rochelle  sat  near  the  window,  which  to-day  was 
open  to  the  balmy  air.  She  was  occupied  in  knitting  and 
occasionally  glancing  at  a  volume  of  Jurieu's  hard  Calvin- 
istic  divinity  which  lay  ugon  the  table  beside  her.  Her 
spectacles  reposed  upon  the  open  page  where  she  had 
laid  them  down,  while  she  meditated,  as  was  her  custom 
upon  knotty  points  of  doctrine,  touching  free  will,  neces- 
sity, and  election  jy  grace  ;  regarding  works  as  a  garment 
of  filthy  rags  in  which  publicans  and  sinners  who  trusted 
in  them  were  damned,  while  in  practice  the  good  soul  was 
as  earnest  in  performing  them,  as  if  she  believed  her  salva- 
tion depended  exclusively  thereupon. 
-^  Like  many  of  the  Huguenots,  despite  a  narrow  and 
partial  creed,  her  life  of  pure  morality  made  smooth  a 
hundred  inconsistencies  of  belief.  The  Dame  found  in 
practice  no  difficulty  in  reconciling  contradictions  of  doc- 
trine which  to  less  earnest  Christians  seemed  impossible  to 
be  harmonized.     She  had  long  ago  received  the  blessing 

36 


s^ 


THE  CHIEN  EtOR, 


pronounced  upon  the  pure  in  heart,  ^at  the>'  should 
God.  It  is  the  understanding  which  is  of  the  heart  that 
alone  comprehends  spiritual  facts;,  and  sees  spiritual  truths, 
as  the  presence  of  summer  light  and  warmth  bring  the 
flowers  out  of  the  dark  earth,  and  fill  it  vith  abundance. 

Dame  Rochelle  had  received  a  new  lease  of  life  by  the 
return  home  of  Pierre  Philibert.  She  grew  radiant,  almost 
gay,  at  the  news  of  his  betrothal  to  Am^lie  de  Repentigny, 
and  although  she  could  not  lay  aside  the  black  puritanical 
garb  she  had  worn  so  many  years,  her  kind  face  brightened 
from  its  habitual  seriousness.  The  return  of  Pierre  broke 
in  upon  her  quiet  routine  of  living,  like  a  prolonged  festi- 
val. The  preparation  of  the  great  house  of  Belmont  for 
his  young  bride  completed  her  happiness. 

In  her  anxiety  to  discover  the  tastes  and  preferences  of 
her  young  mistress,  as  she  already  called  her.  Dame  Ro- 
chelle  consulted  Am61ie  on  every  point  of  her  arrangements, 
finding  her  own  innate  sense  of  the  beautiful  quickened  by 
contact  with  that  fresh  young  nature.  She  was  already 
drawn  by  that  infallible  attraction  which  every  one  felt  in 
the  presence  of  Am^lie. 

"  Am^lie  was  too  good  and  too  fair,"  the  dame  said,  "  to 
become  any  man's  portion  but  Pierre  Philibert's  !  " 

The  Dame's  Huguenot  prejudices  melted  like  wax  in 
her  presence,  until  Am^lie  almost  divided  with  Grande 
Marie,  the  saint  of  the  Cevennes,  the  homage  and  blessing 
of  Dame  Rochelle. 

Those  were  days  of  unalloyed  delight  which  she  spent  in 
superintending  the  arrangements  for  the  marriage  which 
had  been  fixed  for  the  festivities  of  Christmas. 

It  was  to  be  celebrated  on  a  scale  worthy  of  the  rank 
of  the  heiress  of  Repentigny  and  of  the  wealth  of  the  Phil- 
iberts.  The  rich  Bourgeois,  in  the  gladness  of  his  heart, 
threw  open  all  his  coffers,  and  blessed  with  tears  of  hap- 
piness the  money  he  flung  out  with  both  hands  to  honor 
the  nuptials  of  Pierre  and  Am^lie. 

The  summer  of  St.  Martin  was  shining  over  the  face  of 
nature.  Its  golden  beams  penetrated  the  very  heart  of  the 
Bourgeois,  and  illumined  all  his  thoughts.  Winter  might 
not  be  far  off,  but  with  peace  in  the  land,  its  coming,  if 
rough,  was  welcome.  Storms  and  tempests  might  be  under 
the  horizon,  but  he  saw  them  not,  and  heeded  them  not 
His  chief  care  in  life  was  now  to  see  Pierre  roirried,  and 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PHIUbERT.  ||[|^ 

•ecnre  in  the  love  of  Am^ie  De  Repentigny.  After  that 
the  Bourgeois  was  ready  to  bid  a  hard  world  farewell,  and 
say  with  devout  Simeon,  "  Nunc  dimittis  servum  hmm^ 
Dominet  in  pace  1*^ 

The  Bourgeois  was  profoundly  happy  during  those  fen 
brief  days  of  Indian  summer.  As  a  Christian  lie  rejoiced 
that  the  long  desolating  war  was  over.  As  a  colonist,  he 
felt  a  pride  that,  unequal  as  had  been  the  struggle.  New 
France  remained  unshorn  of  territory,  and  by  its  resolute 
defence  had  forced  respect  from  even  its  enemies.  In  his 
eager  hope,  he  saw  commerce  revive  and  the  arts  and  com- 
forts of  peace  take  the  place  of  war  and  destruction  1  The 
husbandman  would  now  reap  for  himself  the  harvest  he  had 
sown,  and  no  longer  be  crushed  by  the  exactions  of  the 
Friponne  1 

There  was  hope  for  the  country.  The  iniquitous  regime 
of  the  Intendant,  which  had  pleaded  the  war  as  its  justifi- 
cation, must  close,  the  Bourgeois  thought,  under  the  new 
conditions  of  peace.  The  hateful  monopoly  of  the  grand 
company  must  be  overthrown  by  the  constitutional  action 
of  the  honnetes  gmsy  and  its  condemnation  by  the  parliament 
of  Paris,  to  which  an  appeal  would  presently  be  carried,  it 
was  hoped,  would  be  secured. 

The  king  was  quarrelling  with  the  Jesuits.  The  Moli- 
nists  were  hated  by  La  Pompadour,  and  he  was  certain 
his  majesty  would  never  hold  a  ///  de  Justice  to  command 
the  registration  of  the  decrees  issued  in  his  name  by  the 
Intendant  of  New  France  after  they  had  been  in  form  con- 
demned by  the  parliament  of  Paris.  Such  formed  thf  sub- 
jects of  the  meditations  of  the  Bourgeois. 

Dame  Rochelle  continued  plying- her  needles  quietly  as 
she  meditated  by  turns  upon  the  page  of  Jurieu,  by  turns 
upon  the  marriage  of  Pierre  Philibert,  illustrating  the  one 
by  the  other,  and  proving  to  her  own  perfect  content  that 
this  marriage  had  been  from  all  time  predestinate,  and  that 
the  doctrine  of  her  favorite  divine  never  received  a  more 
striking  demonstration  of  its  truth  than  in  the  life-long 
constancy  of  Pierre  and  Am^lie  to  their  first  love. 

The  Bourgeois  still  reclined  very  still  on  his  easy  chair. 
He  was  not  asleep.  In  the  day  time  he  never  slept.  His 
thoughts,  like  the  dame's,  reverted  to  Pierre.  He  medi- 
tated the  repurchase  of  his  ancestral  home  in  Normandy, 
.and  the  restoration  of  its  ancient  honors  for  his  son. 


I 


'  / 


f64 


THE  CHIBN  irOR, 


Personal  and  political  enmity  might  prevent  the 
iftl  of  his  own  unjust  condemnation,  but  Pierre  haC 
renown  in  the  recent  campaigns.  He  was  favored  with 
the  friendship  of  many  of  the  noblest  personages  in  France, 
who  would  support  his  suit  for  the  restoration  of  his  family 
honors,  while  the  all-potent  influence  of  monev,  the  open 
sesame  of  every  door  in  the  Palace  of  Versailles,  would 
not  be  spared  to  advance  his  just  claims. 

The  crown  of  the  Bourgeois'  ambition  would  be  to  see 
Pierre  restored  to  his  ancestral  chiteau  as  the  Count  de 
Philibert,  and  Amdlie  as  its  noble  Chatelaine,  dispensing 
happiness  among  the  faithful  old  servitors  and  vassals  of 
his  family,  who  in  all  these  long  years  of  his  exile  never 
forgot  their  brave  old  seigneur,  who  had  been  banished  to 
New  France. 

His  reflections  took  a  practical  turn,  and  he  enumerated 
in  his  mind  the  friends  he  could  count  upon  in  France  to 
support,  and  the  enemies  who  were  sure  to  oppose  the  at- 
tainment of  this  great  object  of  his  ambition.  But  the 
purchase  of  the  chateau  and  lands  of  Philibert  was  in  his 
power.  Its  present  possessor,  a  needy  courtier,  was  deeply 
m  debt,  and  would  be  glad,  the  Bourgeois  had  ascertained, 
to  sell  the  estates  for  such  a  price  as  he  could  easily  offer 
him.  ^J  ,»ri  J' m {•»■■•  ■tiitr»^tfefe.^.>iriM -'■:.; 

To  sue  for  simple  justice  in  the  restoration  of  his  inher- 
itance would  be  useless.  It  would  involve  a  life-long  liti- 
gation. The  Bourgeois  preferred  buying  it  back  at  what- 
ever price,  so  that  he  could  make  a  gift  of  it  at  once  to  his 
son,  and  he  had  already  instructed  his  bankers  in  Paris  to 
pay  the  price  asked  by  its  owner,  and  forward  to  him  the 
deeds,  which  he  was  ambitious  to  present  to  Pierre  and 
Amdlie  on  the  day  of  their  marriage. 

The  Bourgeois  at  last  looked  up  from  his  revery.  Dame 
Rochelle  closed  her  book,  waiting  for  her  master's  com- 
mands. 

" Has  Pierre  returned,  Dame ?  "  asked  he.  r'^i 

**  No,  master  ;  he  bade  me  say  he  was  going  to  accom 
pany  Mademoiselle  Amdlie  to  Lorette."  \  , 

"  Ah  1  Am^lie  had  a  vow  to  our  lady  of  St.  Foye,  and 
Pierre,  I  warrant,  u^...  id  to  pay  half  the  debt!  What 
think  you,  Dame,  of  your  godson?  Is  he  not  promising?" 
The  Bourgeois  laughed  quietly,  as  was  his  wont  some- 
times, t. 


ye^  and 
What 

sing?" 
some- 


r^E  BOURGEOIS  PHILIBERT.  j6) 

Dame  Rochelle  sat  a  shade  more  upright  in  her  chair. 
"  Pierre  is  worthy  of  Am^lie  and  Amelie  of  him/'  repllMl 
the  eraveiy ;  *'  never  were  two  out  of  heaven  more  My 
matched.  If  they  make  vows  to  the  Lady  of  St.  Foye  they 
will  pay  them  as  religiously  as  if  they  had  made  them  to 
the  Most  High,  to  whom  we  are  commanded  to  pay  our 
vows ! " 

The  good  old  Huguenot  would  have  censured  a  vow  to 
our  Lady  of  St.  Foye  in  any  other  but  Amdiie  and  Pierre. 

"  Well,  Dame,  some  turn  to  the  east  and  some  to  the 
west  to  pay  their  vows,  but  the  holiest  shrine  is  where  true 
love  is,  and  there  alone  the  oracle  speaks  in  response  to 
young  hearts.  Amdlie,  sweet,  modest  flower  that  she  is, 
pays  her  vows  to  our  Lady  of  St.  Foye,  Pierre  his  to 
Amelie  1  I  will  be  bound,  Dame,  there  is  no  saint  in  tho 
calendar  so  holy  in  his  eyes  as  herself  I  " 

"  Nor  deserves  to  be,  master !  Their's  is  no  ordinary 
affection.  If  love  be  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  all  law  is 
fulfilled  in  these  two,  for  never  did  the  elements  of  hap- 
piness mingle  more  sweetly  in  the  soul  of  a  man  and  a 
woman  than  in  Pierre  and  Amdlie  I  " 

"  It  will  restore  your  youth,  Dame,  to  live  with  Pierre 
and  Amdlie,"  replied  the  Bourgeois.  "  Amelie  insists  on 
it,  not  because  of  Pierre,  she  says,  but  for  your  own  sake. 
She  was  moved  to  tears  one  day.  Dame,  when  she  made 
me  relate  your  story." 

Dame  Rochelle  put  on  her  spectacles  to  cover  her  eyesy 
which  were  fast  filling,  as  she  glanced  down  on  the  black 
robe  she  wore,  remembering  for  whom  she  wore  it. 

"  Thanks,  master.  It  would  be  a  blessed  thing  to  end 
the  remaining  days  of  my  mourning  in  the  house  of  Pierre 
and  Amdlie,  but  my  quiet  mood  suits  better  the  house  of 
my  master,  who  has  also  had  his  heart  saddened  by  a  long 
long  day  of  darkness  and  regret." 

"  Yes,  Dame,  but  a  bright  sunset,  I  trust,  awaits  it  now. 
The  descending  shadow  of  the  dial  goes  back  a  pace  on 
the  fortunes  of  my  house  !  I  hope  to  welcome  my  few  re- 
maining years  with  a  gayer  aspect  and  a  lighter  heart  than 
I  have  felt  since  we  were  driven  from  France.  What  would 
you  say  to  see  us  all  reunited  once  more  in  our  old  Norman 
home  ? " 

The  Dame  gave  a  great  start,  and  clasped  her  thii 
hands. 


■■  t 


Il  I 


! 


li  I 


^  TUE  CHIEN  BtOit. 

''What  would  I  say,  master ?  O f  to  return  to  Franot^ 
and  be  buried  in  the  green  valley  of  the  CAte  d'Or  by  tha 
•ide  of  him,  were  next  to  rising  m  the  resurrection  of  the 
just  at  the  last  day  1 " 

The  Bourgeois  knew  well  whom  she  meant  by  him.  He 
reverenced  her  feeling,  but  continued  the  topic  of  a  return 
to  France." 

*'  Well,  Dame,  I  will  do  for  Pierre  what  I  would  not  do 
for  myself.  I  shall  repurchase  the  old  ChAteau,  and  use 
every  influence  at  my  command  to  prevail  on  the  king  to 
restore  to  Pierre  the  honors  of  his  ancestors.  Will  not  that 
be  a  glorious  end  to  the  career  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  1 " 

"Yes,  master,  but  it  may  not  end  there  for  you  t  I  hear 
from  my  quiet  window  many  things  spoken  in  the  street 
below.  Men  love  you  so,  and  need  you  so,  that  they  will 
not  spare  any  supplication  to  bid  you  stay  in  the  colony  1  and 
you  will  stay  and  die  where  you  have  lived  so  many  years, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Golden  Dog  I  Some  men  hate 
you,  too,  because  you  love  justice  and  stand  up  for  the 
right.   I  have  a  request  to  make,  dear  master." 

"  What  is  that,  Dame  ? "  asked  he  kindly,  prepared  to 
grant  any  request  of  hers. 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  market  to-morrow  1 "  replied  she, 
earnestly. 

The  Bourgeois  glanced  sharply  at  the  Dame,  who  con- 
tinued to  ply  her  needles.  Her  eyes  were  half  closed  in  a 
semi-trance,  their  lids  trembling  with  nervous  excitement. 
One  of  her  moods  rare  of  late  was  upon  her,  and  she  con 
tinued — 

"01  my  dear  master,  you  will  never  go  to  France  ; 
but  Pierre  shall  inherit  the  honors  of  the  house  of  Phili- 
bert I" 

The  Bourgeois,  looked  up  contentedly.  He  respected 
without  putting  entire  faith  in  Dame  Rochelle's  inspirations  : 
"  I  shall  be  resigned,"  he  said, "  not  to  see  France  again, 
if  the  king's  majesty  makes  it  a  condition,  that  he  restore 
to  Pierre  the  dignity,  while  I  give  him  back  the  domain,  of 
his  fathers."  > 

Dame  Rochelle  clasped  her  hands  hard  together  and 
sighed.  She  spake  not,  but  her  lips  moved  in  prayer  as  if 
deprecating  some  danger,  or  combatting  some  presentiment 
of  evil.  ' 

The  Bourgeois  watched  her  narrowly.    Her  moods  of 


THIi,  BOURGEOtS  PHfUBBRr.  567 

devout  contemplation  AometlmeA  perplexed  his  clear  worldly 
wisdom.  He  could  scarcely  believe  thnt  her  intuitionswere 
other  than  the  natural  result  of  a  wonderfully  sensitive  and 
apprehensive  nature  ;  still  in  his  experience  he  had  found 
that  her  fancies,  if  not  supernatural,  were  not  unworthy  of 
regard  as  the  sublimation  of  reason  by  intellectual  processes 
of  which  the  possessor  was  unconscious. 

"  You  again  see  trouble  in  .store  for  me,  Dame  I  "  said 
he  smiling,  '*  but  a  merchant  of  New  France  setting  at 
defiance  the  decrees  of  the  Royal  Intendant,  an  exile 
seeking  from  the  king  the  restoration  of  the  lordship  of 
Philibert,  may  well  have  trouble  on  his  hands." 

"Yes,  master,  but  as  yet  I  only  see  trouble  like  a 
misty  cloud  which  as  yet  has  neither  form  nor  color  of 
its  own,  but  only  reflects  red  rays  as  of  a  setting  sun.  No 
voice  from  its  midst  tells  me  its  meaning,  I  thank  God  for 
that  1  I  like  not  to  anticipate  evil  that  may  not  be 
averted  1 " 

"  Whom  does  it  touch  ?  Pierre  or  Am^ie,  me,  or  all  of 
us  ? "  asked  the  Bourgeois. 

"All  of  us,  master?  How  could  any  misfortune  do 
other  than  concern  us  all  ?  What  it  means  I  know  not.  It  is 
now  like  the  wheel  seen  by  the  Prophet,  full  of  eyes  within 
and  without,  like  God's  providence  looking  for  his  elect" 

"  And  finding  them  ?  " 

"  Not  yet  Master,  but  ere  long  !  finding  all  ere  long!  " 
replied  she  in  a  dreamy  manner.  "  But  go  not  to  the  market 
to-morrow  1 " 

"These  are  strange  fancies  of  yours,  Dame  Rochellel 
Why  caution  me  against  the  market  to-morrow  ?  It  is  the 
day  of  St.  Martin,  the  poor  will  expect  me  1  if  I  go  not, 
manv  will  return  empty  away." 

"They  are  not  wholly  fancies,  Master:  Two  gentlemen 
of  the  Palace  passed  to-day  and  looking  up  at  the  tablet, 
one  wagered  the  other  on  the  battle  to-morrow  between 
Cerberus  and  the  Golden  Dog.  I  have  not  forgotten 
wholly  my  early  lessons  in  classical  lore,"  added  the  Dame. 

^  Nor  I,  Dame  I  I  comprehend  the  allusion !  but  it 
will  not  keep  me  from  the  Market  I  I  will  be  watchful 
however  for  I  know  that  the  malice  of  my  enemies  is  at 
this  time  ^eater  than  ever  before." 

"  Let  Pierre  go  with  you  and  you  will  be  safe  1 "  said  tht 
Dame,  half  imploringly.       ;sa*// i  n 


■\*- 


Wl 


|tt  THM  CmEN  D'OR, 

The  Bourgeois  laughed  at  the  suggestion  and  began 
good  humoredly  to  rally  her  on  her  curious  gift  and  on 
the  inconvenience  of  having  a  prophetess  in  his  house 
to  anticipate  the  evil  day. 

**  Philip  the  Evangelist,"  said  she,  "  had  four  daughters 
in  his  house,  virgins  who  did  prophecy,  and  it  is  not  said  he 
complained  of  it,  master  1 "  replied  the  Dame  with  a  slight 
smile. 

^*  But  Philip  had  evangelical  grace  to  support  him  under 
it,  Dame  1 "  said  the  Bourgeois  smiling.  "  I  think  with  the 
preacher,  it  is  best  not  to  be  wise  overmuch.  I  would  not 
look  too  far  before  or  after." 

Dame  Rochelle  would  not  say  more.  She  knew  that  to 
express  her  fears  more  distinctly  would  only  harden  the 
resolution  of  the  Bourgeois.  His  natural  courage  would 
make  him  court  the  special  danger  he  ought  to  avoid. 

"  Master  I  "  said  she,  suddenly  casting  her  eyes  in  the 
street,  "  there  rides  past  one  of  the  gentlemen  who  wagered 
on  the  battle  between  Cerberus  and  the  Golden  Dog," 

The  Bourgeois  had  sufficient  curiosity  to  look  out.  He 
recognized  the  Chevalier  De  Pean,  and  tranquilly  resumed 
his  seat  with  the  remark,  that  "  that  was  truly  one  of  the 
heads  of  Cerberus  which  guards  the  Friponne,  a  fellow  who 
wore  the  collar  of  the  Intendant  and  was  worthy  of  it !  the 
Golden  Dog  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him !  "         >,,  /  . ' 

Dame  Rochelle,  full  of  her  own  thoughts,  followed  with 
her  eyes  the  retreating  figure  of  the  Chevalier  De  Pean, 
whom  she  lost  sight  of  at  the  first  turn,  as  he  rode  rapidly 
to  the  house  of  Angelique  des  Meloises.  Since  the  fatal  eve 
of  St.  Michael,  Angelique  had  been  tossing  in  a  sea  of  conflic- 
ting emotions,  sometimes  br  ghtened  by  a  wild  hope  of  the 
Intendant,  sometimes  darkened  with  fear  of  the  discovery  of 
her  dealings  with  La  Corriveau. 

It  was  in  vain  she  tried  every  artifice  of  female  blan- 
dishment and  cunning  to  discover  what  was  really  in  the 
heart  and  mind  of  Bigot.  She  had  sounded  his  soul  to 
try  if  he  entertained  a  suspicion  of  herself,  but  its  depth  was 
beyond  her  power  to  reach  its  bottomless  darkness,  and  to 
the  last  she  could  not  resolve  whether  he  suspected  her  or 
not,  of  complicity  with  the  death  of  the  unfortunate 
Caroline. 

She  never  ceased  to  curse  La  Corriveau  for  that  felon 
Stroke  of  her  mad  stiletto  which  changed  what  might  have 


TflE  BOURGEOIS  PHILIBERT  5^ 

(Assed  for  a  simple  death  by  heartbreak,  into  a  foul  assat 
sination. 

The  Intendant  she  knew  must  be  well  aware  that 
Caroline  had  been  murdered  ;  but  he  had  never  named  it,  or 
given  the  least  token  of  consciousness  that  such  a  crime 
had  been  committed  in  his  house. 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  repeated  with  a  steadiness  (A 
face  w;hich  sometimes  imposed  even  on  Bigot,  her  request 
for  a  Letire  de  Cachet^  or  urged  the  banishment  of  her  rival, 
until  the  Intendant  one  day,  with  a  look  which  for  a 
moment  annihilated  her,  tokl  her  that  her  rival  had  gone 
from  Beaumanoir  and  would  never  trouble  her  any  more  ! 

What  did  he  mean  ?  Ang^lique  had  noted  every  change 
of  r  luscle,  every  curve  of  lip  and  eyelash  as  he  spake, 
and  she  felt  more  puzzled  than  before. 

She  replied  however  with  the  assurance  she  could  so  well 
assume,  "  Thanks,  Bigot  1  I  did  not  speak  from  jealousy.  I 
only  asked  for  '"stice,  and  the  f'^lfilment  of  your  promise 
to  send  her  away." 

?  "But  I  did  not  send  her  away  1  She  has  gone  away  I 
know  not  whither !  Gone !  do  you  mind  me,  Ang^lique  I 
I  would  give  half  my  possessions  to  know  who  helped 
her  to  escape — yes  1  that  is   the  word,  from  Beaumanoir. 

Angelique  had  expected  a  burst  of  passion  from  Bigot, 
she  had  prepared  herself  for  it  by  diligent  rehearsal  of  how 
she  would  demean  herself  under  every  possible  form  of 
charge  from  bare  innuendo  to  direct  impeachment  of 
herself.  i;-!! 

Keenly  as  Bigot  watched  Angelique,  he  could  detect  no 
sign  of  confusion  in  her.  She  trembled  in  her  heart,  but 
her  lips  wore  their  old  practised  smile.  Her  eyes  opened 
widely,  looking  surprise,  not  guilt,  as  she  shook  him  by 
the  sleeve  or  coquettishly  pulled  his  hair,  asking  if  he 
thought  that  "  she  had  stolen  away  his  lady  love  I  " 

Bigot  though  only  half  deceived,  tried  to  persuade 
himself  of  her  innocence,  and  left  her  after  an  hour's 
dalliance  with  the  half  belief  that  she  did  not  really  meril 
the  grave  suspicions  he  had  entertained  of  her. 

Angelique  feared  however  that  he  was  only  acting 
a  part.  What  part  ?  •  It  was  still  a  mystery  to  her  and 
likely  to  be ;  she  had  but  one  criterion  to  discover  his 
real  thoughts.  The  offer  of  his  hand  in  marriage  was 
the  only  test  she  relied  upon  to  prove  her  acquittal  Id 

:    ■  I 


■!■■ 


S70 


THE  CfflEN  lyoH. 


the  mind  of  Bigot,  of  all  complicity  with  the  death  of 
Caroline. 

But  Bigot  was  far  from  making  the  desired  offer  of  his 
hand.  That  terrible  night  in  the  secret  chamber  of  Beati- 
manoif  was  not  absent  from  his  mind  an  hour.  It  could 
r.*7er  be  forgotten,  least  of  all  in  the  company  of  Ang^lique, 
whom  he  was  judging  incessantly;  either  convicting 
or  acquitting  her  in  his  mind,  as  he  was  alternately 
impressed  by  her  well  acted  innocent  gayety,  or  stung 
by  a  sudden  percv^ption  of  her  power  of  deceit  and  un- 
rivalled assurance. 

So  they  went  on  from  day  to  day,  fencing  like  two 
adepts  in  the  art  of  dissimulation.  Bigot  never  glancing  at 
the  murder,  and  speaking  of  Caroline  as  gone  away  to 
parts  unknown,  but  as  Ang^lique  observed  with  bitterness, 
never  making  that  a  reason  for  pressing  his  suit,  while  she, 
assuming  the  role  of  innocence  and  ignorance  of  all  that 
had  happened  at  Beaumanoir,  put  on  an  appearance  of 
satisfaction,  or  pretending  still  to  fits  of  jealousy,  grew 
fonder  in  her  demeanour  and  acted  as  though  she  assumed, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  Bigot  would  now  fulfil  her  hopes 
of  speedily  making  her  his  bride. 

The  Intendant  had  come  and  gone  every  day,  un- 
changed in  his  manner,  full  of  spirits  and  gallantry,  and  as 
warm  in  his  admiration  as  before ;  but  her  womanly 
instinct  told  her  there  was  something  hidden  under  that 
gay  exterior. 

It  was  in  «vain  that  she  exerted  her  utmost  powers  of 
pleasing,  dressed  herself  to  his  voluptuous  tastes,  put  on  an 
appearance  of  gaiety  she  was  far  from  feeling,  sat  with  him, 
walked  with  him,  rode  with  him,  and  in  every  way  drew 
him  off  and  on  like  her  glove.       '^Jri^mw^  -^ixmMM-  ^^?:;,) 

Bigot  accepted  every  challenge  of  flirtation,  and  ought 
to  ha/e  declared  himself  twenty  times  over,  but  he  did  not 
He  seemed  to  bring  himself  to  the  brink  of  an  avowal  only 
to  break  into  her  confidence,  and  surprise  the  secret  she 
kept  so  desperately  concealed. 

Angdlique  met  craft  by  craft,  duplicity  by  duplicity,  but 
it  began  to  be  clear  to  herself,  that  she  had  met  with  her 
match,  and  although  the  Intendant  grew  more  pressing  as  a 
lover,  she  had  daily  less  hope  of  winning  him  as  a  husband. 

The  rtiought  was  middening.  Such  a  result  admitted  ol 
a  twofold  meaning,  either  he  suspected  her  of  the  death  of 


f 


THE  BOURGEOIS  tHIUBRRT. 


sy» 


Caroline,  or  her  charms  which  had  never  failed  before 
with  any  man,  failed  now  to  entangle  the  one  man  she  had 
resolved  to  mairy. 

She  cursed  him  '  her  heart,  while  she  flattered  him 
with  her  tongue,  bui  /  no  art  she  was  mistress  of,  neither 
by  fondness  nor  by  coyness,  could  she  extract  the  declara- 
tion she  regarded  as  her  due,  and  was  indignant  at 
not  receiving.  She  had  fairly  earned  it  by  her  great  crime ! 
She  had  still  more  fully  earned  it,  she  thought,  by  her 
condescensions.  She  regarded  Providence  as  unjust  in 
withholding  her  reward,  and  for  punishing  as  a  sin  that 
which  for  her  sake  ought  to  be  considered  a  virtue. 

She  often  reflected  with  regretful  looking  back  upon 
the  joy  which  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would  have 
manifested  over  the  least  of  the  favors  which  she  had 
lavished  in  vain  upon  the  inscrutable  Intendant.  At 
such  moments  she  cursed  her  evil  star,  which  had  led 
her  astray  to  listen  to  the  promptings  of  ambition,  and  to 
ask  fatal  counsel  of  La  Corriveau. 

Le  Gardeur  was  now  in  the  swift  downward  road 
of  destruction.  This  was  the  one  thing  that  caused 
Angdlique  a  human  pang.  She  might  yet  fail  in  all  her 
ambitious  prospects,  and  have  to  fall  back  upon  her 
first  love — ^when  even  that  would  be  too  late  to  save 
Le  Gardeur  or  to  save  her!  hjI^h 

De  Pean  rode  fast  up  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  not  unobserv- 
ant of  the  dark  looks  of  the  Honmtes  Gens  or  the  familiar 
nods  and  knowing  smiles  of  the  partizans  of  the  Friponne 
whom  he  met  on  the  way. 

•  ^  Before  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  tJie  Chevalier 
Des  Meloises  he  saw  a  valet  of  the  Intendant  holding  his 
master's  horse,  and  at  the  broad  window,  half  hid  behind 
the  thick  curtains,  sat  Bigot  and  Angdlique  engaged  in 
badinage  and  mutual  deceiving,  as  De  Pean  well  knew. 

Her  silvery  laugh  struck  his  ear  as  he  drew  up.  He 
cursed  them  both,  but  fear  of  the  Intendant,  and  a  due 
regard  to  his  own  interests,  two  feelings  never  absent  from 
the  Chevalier  De  Pean,  caused  him  to  ride  on,  not  stopping 
as  he  had  intended. 

He  would  ride  to  the  end  of  the  grand  AlMe  and  return. 
By  that  time  the  Intendant  would  be  gone,  and  she  would 
be  at  liberty  to  receive  his  invitation  for  a  ride  to-morrow, 
when  they  would  visit  the  Cathedral  and  the  market. 


'(VJ 


■ifc 


m. 


m. 


57* 


THE  CHIEtf  t/OR, 


■\  ' 


De  Pean  kn  ;w  enough  of  the  ways  of  Ang^lique  to 
that  she  aimed  at  the  hand  of  the  Intendant.  She  had 
slighted  and  vilipended  himself  even,  while  accepting  his 
gifts  and  gallantries.  But  with  a  true  appreciation  of  hck 
character,  he  had  faith  in  the  ultimate  power  of  money, 
which  represented  to  her,  as  to  most  women,  position, 
dress,  jewels,  stately  houses,  carriages,  and  above  all,  the 
envy  and  jealousy  of  her  own  sex. 

These  things  De  Pean  had  wagered  on  the  head  of 
Ang^lique  against  the  wild  love  of  Le  Gardeur,  the  empty 
admiration  of  Bigot,  and  the  flatteries  of  the  troop  of 
idle  gentlemen  who  dawdled  around  her. 

He  felt  confident  that  in  the  end  victory  would  be  his, 
and  the  fair  Ang^lique  would  one  day  lay  her  hand  in  his 
as  the  wife  of  Hugues  de  Pean  ! 

De  Pean  knew  that  in  her  heart  she  had  no  love  for  the 
Intendant,  and  the  Intendant  no  respect  for  her.  Moreover, 
Bigot  would  not  venture  to  marry  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
without  the  sanction  of  his  jealous  patroness  at  Court. 
He  might  possess  a  hundred  mistresses  if  he  liked,  and  be 
congratulated  on  his  bonnes  fortunes,  but  not  one  wife, 
under  the  penalty  of  losing  the  favor  of  La  Pompadour, 
who  had  chosen  a  future  wife  for  him  out  of  the  crowd  of 
intriguantes  who  fluttered  round  her,  basking  like  butter- 
flies in  the  sunshine  of  her  semi-regal  splendor. 

Bigot  had  passed  a  wild  night  at  the  palace  among  the 
partners  of  the  Grand  Company,  who  had  met  to  curse  the 
peace  and  drink  a  speedy  renewal  of  the  war !  Before  sit- 
ting down  to  their  debauch,  however,  they  had  discussed 
with  more  regard  to  their  peculiar  interests  than  to  the 
principles  of  the  Decalogue,  the  condition  and  prospects  of 
the  Company. 

The  prospect  was  so  little  encouraging  to  the  associates 
that  they  were  glad  when  the  Intendant  bade  them  cheer 
up,  and  remember  that  all  was  not  lost  that  was  in  danger. 
"  Philibert  would  yet  undergo  the  fate  of  Actaeon  and  be 
torn  in  pieces  by  his  own  dog,"  Bigot  as  he  said  this, 
glanced  from  Le  Garde  ir  to  De  Pean,  with  a  look  and 
a  smile  which  caused  Cadet,  who  knew  its  meanii^,  to 
shrug  his  shoulders  and  inquire  of  De  Pean  privately, 
"Is  the  trap  set?" 

"  It  is  set  I "  replied  De  Pean  in  a  whisper.  "  It  will 
spring  to-morrow  and  catch  our  game,  I  hope." 


A  DRAWN  GAME, 


le  to 
She  had 
pting  his 
n  of  he* 
i  money, 
position, 
e  all,  the 

head  of 

he  empty 

troop  of 

Id  be  his, 
ind  in  his 

>ve  for  the 
Vloreover, 
5f  Sheba 
at  Court, 
id,  and  be 
one  wife, 
^mpadour, 
crowd  of 
ke  butter- 


imong  the 
curse  the 
jefore  sit- 
discussed 
an  to  the 
ospects  of 

associates 

lem  cheer 

lin  danger. 

)n  and  be 

said  this, 

look  and 

janii\g,  to 

privately, 

i   "It  will 


**  You  must  have  a  crowd  and  a  row,  mind  1  this  thii^ 
Id  be  safe,  must  be  done  openly,"  whispered  Cadet  m 
reply. 

'*  We  will  have  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  never  fear  I 
The  new  preacher  of  the  Jesuits,  who  ib  fresh  from  Italy, 
and  knows  nothing  about  our  plot,  is  to  inveigh  in  the 
market  against  the  Jansenists  and  the  Honrutes  Gens, 
If  that  does  not  make  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  I  do 
not  know  what  will." 

"  You  are  a  deep  devil,  De  Pean  !  So  deep  that 
I  doubt  you  will  cheat  yourself  yet,"  answeied  Cadet 
gruffly.        i  -'  i#*-^n  intv-i /jfAr;  i'ly.' 

"  Never,  fear.  Cadet  1  To-morrow  night  shall  see  the 
palace  gay  with  illumination,  and  the  Golden  Dog  in 
darkness  and  despair." 


I-  ■  r. 


'^\^'^  4n)'X,\^^.ix;i\\n    i\ 


iMi^M  f-'t!j>,:t'p,(i'«?       CHAPTER  LI.  ■   ''' 

l>tW|Efc.i.^/w    ■','',]      A     DRAWN     GAME.'     •  r^  «^aWK>.- 


•  f  »/ J-  i  V=**iV^     '-_tt 


LE  GARDEUR  was  too  drunk  to  catch  the  full  drift 
of  the  Intendant's  reference  to  the  Bourgeois  under 
the  metaphor  of  Actaeon  torn  in  pieces  by  his  own  dog. 
He  only  comprehended  enough  to  know  that  some- 
thing was  intended  to  the  disparagement  of  the  Philiberts, 
and  firing  up  at  the  idea,  swore  loudly  that  "  neither 
the  Intendant  nor  all  the  Grand  Company  in  mass  should 
harm  a  hair  of  the  Bourgeois'  head  ! "  *  it<>7*>f\  ' 

;  *"  It  is  the  dog ! "  exclaimed  De  Pean,  "  which  the 
company  will  hang — not  his  master — nor  your  friend 
his  son,  nor  your  friend's  friend  the  old  Huguenot  witch ! 
We  will  let  them  hang  themselves  when  their  time  comes ; 
but  it  is  the  Golden  Dog  we  mean  to  hang  at  present,  Le 
Gardeur!"  ;;  »> -4i^!uhw*  r^.h 

"  Yes  !  I  see  !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur,  looking  very  hazy, 
'  Hang  the  golden  dog  as  much  as  you  will,  but  as  to  the 
man  that  touches  his  master,  I  say  he  will  have  to  fight  me^ 
that  is  all."  Le  Gardeur  after  one  or  two  vain  attempts, 
succeeded  in  drawing  his  sword  and  aid  it  upor  the  table. 


&, 


-iiv- 


S74 


THE  CH/EA  tXOE. 


"Do  you  see  that,  De  Peaa?  That  is  the  sword  of 
ft  {;entleman,  and  I  will  run  it  throuf 'i  the  heart  of  any 
man  who  says  he  will  hurt  a  hair  of  ihe  head  of  Pierre 
Pbiiibert,  or  the  Bourgeois,  or  even  the  old  Huguenot  witch 
as  you  call  Dame  Rochelle  who  is  a  lady,  and  too  good  to 
be  either  your  mother,  aunt,  or  cater  cousin,  in  any  way, 
De  Pean  I  " 

"  By  St.  Picot  1  You  have  mistaken  your  man,  De 
Pean  1 "  whispered  Cadet.  "  Why  the  deuce  did  you  pitch 
upon  Le  Gardeur  to  carry  out  your  bright  idea  ?  " 

"  I  pitched  upon  him  because  he  is  the  best  man  for  our 
turn.  E'lt  I  am  right !  You  will  see  I  am  right !  Le  Gardeur 
b  the  pink  of  morality  when  he  is  sober.  He  would 
kill  the  devil  when  he  is  half  drunk,  but  when  wholly  drunk 
he  would  storm  paradise,  ^and  sack  and  slay  like  a  German 
Ritter.  He  would  kill  his  own  grandfather  I  I  have 
not  erred  in  choosing  him  !  " 

Bigot  watched  this  by  play  with  intense  interest. 
saw  that  Le  Gardeur  was  a  two-edged  weapon 
as  likely  to  cut  his  friends  as  his  enemies,  unless 


He 

just 
skil- 
fully  held  in  hand,  and  blinded  as  to  when  and  whom 
he  should  strike. 

"  Come,  Le  Gardeur  !  put  up  your  sword  !  "  exclaimed 
Bigot,  coaxingly,  "  we  have  better  game  to  bring  down 
to-night  than  the  Golden  Dog.  Hark  !  they  are  coming ! 
Open  wide  the  doors  and  let  the  blessed  peacemakers 
enter !  " 

"  The  peacemakers !  "  ejaculated  Cadet,  "  the  cause  of 
every  quarrel  among  men  since  the  creation  of  the  world  1 
What  made  you  send  for  the  women,  Bigot  ?  " 

"  O  !  not  to  say  their  prayers  you  may  be  sure,  old 
Misogynist,  but  this  being  a  gala  night  at  the  Palace,  the 
girls  and  fiddlers  were  ordered  up  by  De  Pean,  and  we  will 
sec  you  dance  fandangoes  with  them  until  morning, 
Cadet. 

"  No  you  wont !  Damn  the  women !  I  wish  you  had 
kept  them  away,  that  is  all.     It  spoils  my  fun,  Bigot !  " 

"  But  it  helps  the  company's  !  here  they  come  !  "    : 

Their  appearance  at  the  door  caused  a  hubbub  of 
excitement  among  the  gentlewen  who  hurried  forward  to 
salute  a  dozen  or  more  of  women  dressed  in  the  extreme 
of  fashion,  who  came  forward  with  plentiful  lack  of 
modesty,  and  a  superabundance  of  gaiety  and  laughter. 


A  DRAWN  GAMR, 


5)S 


rord  of 
of  any 
Pierre 
)t  witch 
good  to 
ny  way, 

an,   De 
3U  pitch 

1  for  our 
Gardeur 
e  would 
ly  drunk 
German 
I   have 

est.  He 
Don  just 
ess  skil- 
id  whom 

xclaimed 

ng  down 

coming ! 

cemakers 

■JCVf     i:    ^ 

cause  of 
He  world  I 

sure,  old 
alace,  tiie 
d  we  will 
morning, 

you  had 
otl'V 
I" 

bbul?  of 
orward  to 
;  extreme 
lack  of 
ghter. 


Le  Gardeur  and  Cadet  did  not  rise  like  the  rest,  but 
kept  their  seats.  Cadet  swore  that  JDe  Pean  had  spoiled 
a  jolly  evening  by  inviting  the  women  to  the  palace. 

These  women  iiad  been  invited  by  De  Pean  to  give  zest 
to  the  wild  orgie  that  was  intended  to  prepare  Le  Gardeur 
for  their  plot  of  to-morrow,  which  was  to  compass  the  fall  of 
the  Bourgeois.  They  sat  down  with  the  gentlemen,  listen- 
ing with  peals  of  laughter  to  their  coarse  jests,  and  tempt- 
ing tliem  to  wilder  follies.  They  drank,  they  sang,  they 
danced  and  conducted,  or  misconducted  themselves  in 
such  thorougii  shameless  fashion  that  Bigot,  Varin,  and 
other  experts  of  the  court  swore  that  the  petiis  appartemens 
of  Versailles,  or  even  the  royal  fetes  of  the  Pare  aux  cerfs^ 
could  not  surpass  the  high  life  and  jollity  of  the  Palace  of 
the  Intendant.      uu*  -         .^-.mm'^V-i^^'^ 

In  that  wild  fashion  Bigot  had  passed  the  night  previous 
to  his  present  visit  to  Ang^lique.  The  Chevalier  De  Pean 
rode  the  length  of  the  Grand  AlMe  and  returned.  The 
valet  and  horse  of  the  Intendant  were  still  waiting  at  the 
door,  and  De  Pean  saw  Bigot  and  Ang^lique  still  seated 
at  the  window  engaged  in  a  lively  conversation,  and 
not  apparently  noticing  his  presence  in  the  street  as  he  sat 
pulling  hairs  out  of  the  mane  of  his  horse,  "  with  the  air  of 
a  man  in  love,"  as  Angdlique  laughingly  remarked  to  Bigot. 

Her  quick  eye,  which  nothing  could  escape,  had  seen  De 
Pean  the  first  time  he  passed  the  house.  She  knew  that 
he  had  come  to  visit  her,  and  seeing  the  horse  of  the 
Intendant  at  the  door  he  had  forborne  to  enter — that 
would  not  have  been  the  way  with  Le  Gardeur — she 
thought.  He  would  have  entered  all  the  readier  had  even 
the  Dauphin  held  her  in  conversation. 

Ang^lique  was  woman  enough  to  like  best  the  bold 
gallant  who  carries  the  female  heart  by  storm,  and  puts  the 
parleying  garrison  of  denial  to  the  sword,  as  the  Sabine 
women  admired  the  spirit  of  their  Roman  captors  and 
became  the  most  faithful  of  wives. 

De  Pean,  clever  and  unprincipled,  was  a  menial  in 
his  soul,  as  cringing  to  his  superiors  as  he  was  arrogant  to 
those  below  him. 

"  Fellow  !  "  said  he  to  Bigot's  groom,  "  How  long  has 
the  Intendant  been  here ? "    -di   -jxM^yhiv   /roii  larfei^i 

"  All  the  afternoon.  Chevalier,"  replied  the  mail 
respectfully  uncovering  his  head,     i  ..  „  n.>.     . ..  «i.i^ 


p 

11 


st^ 


THE  CMIEJ^  tJ^OR. 


"  Hum !  and  have  they  sat  at  the  window  al^  the  time  ?  " 

''I  have  no  eyes  to  watch  my  master!"  replied  the 
groom,  **  I  do  not  Icnow." 

**Ohl**  was  the  reply  of  De  Pean  as  he  suddenly 
reflected  that  it  were  best  for  himself  also  not  to  be  seen 
watching  his  master  too  closely.  He  uttered  a  spurt 
of  ill-humor,  and  continued  pulling  the  mane  of  his  horse 
through  his  fingers. 

"The  Chevalier  De  Pean  is  practising  patience  to- 
day, Bigot,"  said  she,  "  and  you  give  him  enough  time  to 
exercise  it." 

"  You  wish  me  gone,  Angelique  !  "  said  he,  rising,  "  the 
Chevalier  De  Pean  is  naturally  waxing  impatient,  and  you 

loo?"  •■'i.-'-iU  rvi.}{i -niv*  r'fM  ;:t-'^  Jtn 

**  Pshaw  I  "  exclaimed  she,  "  he  shall  wait  as  long  as  I 
please  to  keep  him  there." 

"  Or  as  long  as  I  stay !  He  is  an  accommodating  lover, 
and  will  make  an  equally  accommodating  husband  for 
his  wife's  friend,  some  day  !  "  remarked  Bigot,  laughingly, 
i-  'Ang^lique's  eye  flashed  out  fire,  but  she  little  knew  how 
true  a  word  Bigot  had  spoken  in  jest.  She  could  have 
choked  him  for  mentioning  her  in  connection  with  De 
Pean,  but  remembering  she  was  now  at  his  mercy,  it  was 
necessary  to  cheat  and  cozen  this  man  by  trying  to  please 
him. 

"  Well,  if  you  must  go,  you  must,  Chevalier  !  Let  me 
tie  that  string ! "  continued  she,  approaching  him  in  her 
easy  manner.  The  knot  of  his  cravat  was  loose.  Bigot 
glanced  admiringly  at  her  slightly  flushed  cheek  and 
dainty  fingers  as  she  tied  the  loose  ends  of  his  rich  stein- 
kirk  together. 

"  'Tis  like  love  I  "  said  she,  laughingly,  "  a  slip-knot 
that  looks  tied  until  it  is  tried."        ^ui  ^  wrfTKVorfvv  :;(?* 

She  glanced  at  Bigot  expecting  him  to  thank  her,  which 
he  did  with  a  simple  word.  The  thought  of  Caroline 
flashed  over  his  mind  like  lightning  at  that  moment.  She 
too  as  they  walked  on  the  shore  of  the  Bay  of  Minas  had 
once  tied  the  string  of  his  cravat,  when  for  the  first  time 
he  read  in  her  flushed  cheek  and  trembling  fingers 
that  she  loved  him.  Bigot,  hardy  as  he  was  and  reckless, 
refrained  from  touching  the  hand  or  even .  looking  at 
Angelique  at  this  moment. 

With  the  quick  perception  of  her  sex  she  felt  it,  and 


A  DRAWN  CAME. 


577 


>*>H7-   «»i'»  = 


drew  bacV  a  step,  not  knowing  but  the  next  motnenl 
might  ovt  >  A  helm  her  with  an  accusation  1  But  Bigot  was 
not  sure,  and  he  dared  not  hint  to  Ang^lique  more  than  he 
had  done.  * 

"Thanks  for  tying  the  knot,  Angelique,"  said  he  at 
len^h,  "  It  is  a  hard  knot  mine,  is  it  not,  both  to  tie  apd  to 
unUe  ? " 

She  looked  at  him,  not  pretending  to  understand 
any  meaning  he  might  attach  to  his  words.  "Yes,  it  is 
a  hard  knot  to  tie,  yours.  Bigot,  and  you  do  not  seem 
particularly  to  thank  me  for  my  service.  Have  you  dis* 
covered  the  hidden  place  of  your  fair  fugitive  yet  ?  "  She 
said  this  just  as  he  turned  to  depart.  It  was  the  feminine 
postscript  to  their  interview. 

Bigot's  avoidance  of  any  allusion  to  the  death  of  Caro- 
line was  a  terrible  mark  of  suspicion,  less  in  reality, 
however,  than  it  seemed. 

Bigot,  although  suspicious,  could  find  no  clue  to  the 
real  perpetrators  of  the  murder.  He  knew  it  had  not  been 
Ang^lique  herself  in  person.  He  had  never  heard  her  speak 
of  La  Corriveau.  Not  the  smallest  ray  <^  light  penetrated 
the  dark  mystery.  (<    <-tv,.iYt.fMT  uin?;; 

"  I  do  net  believe  she  has  left  Beaumanoir,  Bigot  I  " 
continued  Ang^lique,  "  or  if  she  has,  you  know  her  hiding 
place.  Will  you  swear  on  my  book  of  hours  that  you 
know  not  where  she  is  to-  be  found  ? " 

He  looked  fixedly  at  Ang^lique  for  a  moment,  trying 
to  read  her  thoughts,  but  she  had  rehearsed  her  part  too 
often  and  too  well  to  look  pale  or  confused.  She  felt  her 
eyebrow  twitch,  but  she  pressed  it  with  her  fingers,  be- 
lieving Bigot  did  not  observe  it,  but  he  did. 

"  I  will  swear  and  curse  both,  if  you  wish  it,  Angdli* 
que,"  replied  he.     "  Which  shall  it  be  ? " 

"  Well,  do  both — swear  at  me  and  curse  the  day  that 
I  banished  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  for  your  sake, 
Francois  Bigot !  If  the  lady  be  gone,  where  is  your  pro- 
mise?" .i:!Ji-:vrt:iJ-,ii  4'\it  Yrjyr^y-'^.ryn.' 

Bigot  burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  as  was  his  wont  When 
hard  pressed.  He  had  not,  to  be  sure,  made  any  definite 
promise  to  Ang^lique,  but  he  had  flattered  her  with  hopes 
of  marriage  never  intended  to  be  realized. 

"I  keep  my  promises  to. ladies  as  if  I  had  sworn  by 
St.  Dorothy,"  replied  he.  vr:  i.4;  tv-t  **:  i^se  ei  !;m^mii> 


'  ! 


w 


57S  THE  Ci/IEAT  ntOR, 

)      **  But  youi  promise  to  me,  Bigot !    W  .11  you  keep  it,  of 
do  worse  ? "  asked  she  impatiently. 

*'  Keep  it  or  do  worse  !  What  mean  you,  Ang^lique  ?  ** 
He  looked  up  in  gcnuin^  surprise.  This  was  not  the 
usual  tone  of  women  towards  him. 

''I  mean  that  nothing  will  be  better  for  Francois  Bigot 
than  to  keep  his  promise,  nor  worse  than  to  break  it,  to 
Ang^lique  des  Meloises !  "  replied  she  with  a  stamp  of  her 
foot,  as  was  her  manner  when  excited. 

She  thought  it  safe  to  use  an  implied  threat,  which  at 
any  rate  mi|;ht  reach  the  thought  that  lay  under  his  heart 
like  a  centipede  under  a  stone,  which  some  chance  foot 
turns  over.  -s^ti^  <i\  \^^m\\*.  \ 

But  Bigot  minded  not  the  implied  threat.  He  was  im- 
moveable in  the  direction  she  wished  him  to  move.  He 
understood  her  allusion,  but  would  not  appear  to  under- 
stand it,  lest  worse  than  she  meant  should  come  of  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  Ang^lique ! "  said  he  with  a  sudden 
change  from  frigidity  to  fondness.  "  I  am  not  unmindful 
of  my  promises  ;  there  is  nothing  better  to  myself  than  to 
keep  them,  nothing  worse  than  to  break  them.  Beau- 
manoir  is  now  without  reproach,  and  you  can  visit  it  with- 
out fear  of  aught  but  the  ghosts  in  the  gallery." 

Ang^lique  feared  no  ghosts,  but  she  did  fear  that  the 
Intendant's  words  implied  a  suggestion  of  one  which 
might  haunt  it  for  the  future,  if  there  were  any  truth  in  tales. 

"  How  can  you  warrant  that,  Bigot  ? "  asked  she,  dubi- 
ously. 

"  Because  Pierre  Philibert  and  La  Come  St.  Luc  have 
been  with  the  king's  warrant  and  searched  the  chateau 
from  crypt  to  attic,  without  finding  a  trace  of  your  rival." 

"  What,  Chevalier,  searched  the  Chdteau  of  the  Inten- 
dant?"  ^'^^'^'^^'^o^  H\?i-iajrt<^  ii:>mW  "^     .;)r  ■  _  •>■ 

1  ''^ Par  bleu!  yes,  I  insisted  upon  their  doing  so,  not, 
however,  till  they  had  gone  through  the  Castle  of  St. 
Louis.  They  apologized  to  me  for  finding  nothing.  What 
did  the}  expect  to  find,  think  you  ? " 

"  The  lady,  to  be  sure !  O,  Bigot ! "  continued  she^ 
tapping  him  with  her  fan,  "  if  they  would  send  a  commis- 
sion of  women  to  search  for  her,  the  secret  could  not 
remain  hid."  y >*"    •' 

"  No,  truly,  Ang^lique !  If  you  were  on  such  acorn- 
mission  to  search  for  the  secret  of  her."    , 


A  DRAWN  GAME 


m 


ich  a  com' 


Well,  Bigot,  I  would  never  betray  it,  if  I  knew  It," 
answered  she,  promptly. 

"  You  swear  to  that,  Angdlique  ? "  asked  he,  looking 
full  in  her  eyes,  which  did  not  flinch  under  his  gaze.- 

•*  Yes  ;  on  my  book  of  hours,  as  you  did  !  "  said  she. 

**  Well,  there  is  my  hand  upon  it,  Ang^lique.  I  have 
no  secret  to  tell  respecting  her.  She  has  gone,  I  cannot 
tell  whither:' 

Ang^lique  gave  him  her  hand  on  the  lie.  She  knew 
he  was  playing  with  her,  as  she  with  him,  a  game  of 
mutual  deception,  which  both  knew  to  be  such.  And  yet 
they  must,  circumstanced  as  they  were,  play  it  out  to  the 
end,  which  end,  she  hoped,  would  be  her  marriage  with 
this  arch-deceiver.  A  breach  of  their  alliance  was  as  danger- 
ous as  it  would  be  unprofitable  to  both. 

Bigot  rose  to  depart  with  an  air  of  gay  regret  at  leav- 
ing the  company  of  Ang^lique,  to  make  room  for  De  Pean, 
"  who,"  he  said,  "  would  pull  every  hair  out  of  his  horse's 
mane  if  he  waited  much  longer." 

"  Your  visit  is  no  pleasure  to  you.  Bigot,"  said  she, 
looking  hard  at  him.  "You  are  discontented  with  me, 
and  would  rather  go  than  stay!"  ^^*'*'  ^  »^'  "^w^ 

"Well,  Angdiique,  I  am  a  dissatisfied  man  to-day. 
The  mysterious  disappearance  of  that  girl  from  Beau- 
manoir  is  the  cause  of  my  discontent.  The  defiant  boldness 
of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  is  another.  I  have  heard  to- 
day that  the  Bourgeois  has  chartered  every  ship  that  is  to 
sail  to  France  during  the  remainder  of  the  autumn.  These 
things  are  provoking  enough,  but  they  drive  me  for  conso- 
lation to  you.  But  for  you  I  should  shut  myself  up  in 
Beaumanoir,  and  let  everything  go  helter-skelter  to  the 
devil." 

"  You  only  flatter  me  and  do  not  mean  it  1 "  said  she, 
as  he  took  her  hand  with  an  over-empressemcnt  as  perceptible 
to  her,  as  was  his  occasional  coldness.    '*^"  ■  '*- 

"  "By  all  the  saints!  I  mean  it,"  said  he.  But  he  did 
not  deceive  her.  His  professions  were  not  all  true,  but 
how  far  they  were  true  was  a  question  that  again  and 
again  tormented  her,  and  set  her  bosom  palpitating  as  he 
left  her  room  with  his  usual  courteous  salute. 

"  He  suspects  me !  He  more  than  suspects  me  I " 
said  she  to  herself  as  Bigot  passed  out  of  the  mansion, 
and  mounted  his  horse  to  r  ie  off.    "  He  would  speak  out 


580  THE  cm  END' OK, 

plainer  if  he  daied  avow  that  that  woman  was  in  truth  th« 
missing  Caroline  dc  St.  Castin  !  "  thought  she  with  savage 
bitterness. 

"I  have  a  bit  in  your  mouth  there,  Francois  Bigot, 
that  will  forever  hold  you  in  check.  That  missirg  demoi* 
selle,  no  one  knows  as  you  do  where  she  is.  I  would  gi\'e 
away  every  jewel  1  own  to  know  what  you  did  with  the  piet* 
ty  piece  of  mortality  left  on  your  hands  by  La  Corriveau." 
"Foul  witch  I"  continued  she.  "It  was  she  made  a 
murder  of  a  natural  death,  and  led  me  into  this  cursed 
«oil  I  But  for  that  poniard  stroke  the  Intendant  would 
have  been  mine  to-day.  I  could  wear  sackcloth  for  spite, 
when  I  reflect  on  it.  I  feel  to  the  very  ends  of  my  finger- 
nails that  Satan  has  put  this  crook  in  my  lot  to  thwart  my 
legitimate  hopes."  j{  ,» . 

Thus  soliloquized  Ang^lique  for  a  few  moments,  look- 
ing gloomy  and  beautiful  as  Medea,  when  the  step  of  De 
Pean  sounded  up  the  broad  stair. 

With  a  sudden  transformation,  as  if  touched  by  a  magic 
wand,  Angdlique  sprang  forward  all  smiles  and  fascinations 
to  greet  his  entrance.  ,f . , ^  <h.,  \ntf>  •^nrAiji.: 

The  faculty  of  a  woman  to  read  a  man  is  said  to  be  a 
sixth  sense  of  the  sex.  If  so,  tiie  faculty  of  appearing 
other  than  she  is,  and  of  preventing  a  man  from  reading 
her,  is  assuredly  a  seventh  sense.  Angdlique  possessed 
both  to  perfection.  ^i6*/i<,vrt^:  ?ii?  -i^t  r,, 

All  women  have  that  faculty,  but  never  one  surpassed 
Angdlique  in  the  art  of  transformation.  None  knew  bet- 
ter than  she  how  to  suit  her  rare  powers  of  fascination  to 
the  particular  man  she  desired  to  please,  or  the  mood  she 
desired  to  take  advantage  of. 

The  Chevalier  De  Pean  had  long  made  distant  and 
timid  pretCwjions  to  her  favor,  but  he  had  been  over-borne 
by  a  dozen  rivals.  He  was  incapable  of  love  in  any 
honest  sense  ;  but  he  had  immense  vanity.  He  had  I^een 
barely  noticed  among  the  crowd  of  Aug^lique's  adrn'rcrs. 
"  He  was  only  food  for  powder,"  she  had  laughingi/  it** 
marked,  upon  one  occasion  when  a  duel  on  her  account 
Itemed  to  be  impending  between  De  Pean  and  the  young 
Captain  de  Tour~ ;  and  beyond  doubt,  Angdlique  would 
have  been  far  pro  ic>  of  him  shot  for  her  sake  in  a  duel 
than  she  was  of  hfe  nvir^j  attentions. 

Sne  regardi  d  hiirt  as  a  lai^y  regards  her  pet  spaniel 


"  /\  cot  '>  CI  ASPS,''  ETC. 


S«i 


He  was  most  useful  to  fetch  and  carry — to  stand  oit  hli 
hind  feet  and  turn  the  whirligig  of  her  fancy  when  she  had 
no  better  company. 

She  was  not  sorry,  Iiowcvli,  that  he  came  in  today 
aUer  the  departure  of  the  Inrend.iiit  It  kept  her  from 
her  own  thoughts,  which  were  uilter  enough  when  alone. 
Moreover,  she  never  tired  u^  any  an  mhi  of  homage  and 
admiration,  come  from  what  quarter  it  would. 

De  Pean  stayed  long  with  Aii;'t^liquc.  How  far  he 
opened  the  details  of  the  plot  to  create  a  riot  in  he 
market  place  that  Jifternoon,  can  only  be  conjectured,  by 
the  far*  of  htr  agreeing  to  ride  out  at  the  hour  designate^'., 
whi<'^  J I  e  warmly  consented  to  do,  as  soon  as  De  Pcan 
inroii.stti:  '  -f  that  Le  Gardeur  would  be  there,  and  might 
be  eypccteti  to  have  a  hand  in  the  tumult  raised  against 
the  lj«/lden  Dog.'  The  conference  over,  Angdlique  speedily 
dismissed  De  Pean.  She  was  in  no  mood  for  flirtation 
with  hitn.  Her  mind  was  taken  up  with  the  possibilify  of 
danger  to  Le  Gardeur  in  this  plot,  which  she  saw  c'carly 
was  the  work  of  others,  and  not  of  himself,  although  he 
Was  expected  to  be  a  chief  actor  in  it. 


».,! 


'••■,;  tvfr-f  -  ■ 


<:,r 


■JuV.'ii  vj' 


)i' 


v 


'  ■'(  '^ 


CHAPTER    UI. 


r^'  . 


H>     J  J.**  IN  GOLD  CLASPS  LOCKS  IN  THE  GOLDEN  STORY." 


LIFE  is  divided  into  triads  of  epochs, — youth,  manhood, 
age ;  birth,  marriage  and  death.  Each  epoch  has  its 
own  progress  from  morning  to  noon,  and  from  noon  to 
night,  as  if  our  moral  and  physii:al  states  retained  in  their 
chanj:>es  an  image  and  reflection  of  the  great  never-ending 
ever-beginning  revolution  of  the  sun. 

The  father  rejoices  in  his  children.  They  will  live  upon 
the  earth  after  him,  and  in  their  eyes  he  will  still  see  the 
pleasant  light  of  day.  Man  turns  towards  the  woman 
whom  he  has  selected  from  among  the  many  possible 
women  whom  he  might  have  loved,  and  she  calls  herself 
for  a  while,  ptrhaps  for  ever,  blessed  among  women. 

Love  is  like  a  bright  river  ;  when  it  springs  from  thefresb 


M 


58:1  T//^  err  EM  IT  OK. 

fountain:-  of  the  heart.  It  iows  on  between  fair  and  evei* 
widening  banks  until  it  reaches  the  ocean  of  eternity  and 
happiness. 

The  days,  illuminated  with  the  brightest  sunshine  are 
those  which  smile  over  the  heads  of  a  loving  pair  who 
have  found  each  other,  and  with  tender  confessions  and 
mutual  avowals  plighted  their  troth  and  prepared  their  little 
bark  for  sailing  together  down  the  changeful  stream  of  time. 

So  it  had  been  through  ther  long  Indian  summer  days 
with  Pierre  Philibert  and  Am^lie  de  Repentigny.  Since 
the  blessed  hour  they  plighted  their  troth  in  the  evening 
twilight  upon  the  shore  of  the  little  lake  of  Tilly,  they  had 
showed  to  each  other  in  the  heart's  confessional,  the 
treasures  of  true  human  affection,  holy  in  the  eyes  of  God 
and  man. 

One  mind,  one  hope,  and  one  desire  possessed  them— 
to  be  all  in  all  to  one  another ;  to  study  each  other's 
inmost  character,  an  easy  task  when  instead  of  conceal- 
ment, each  loved  to  guide  the  other  to  a  perfect  under- 
standing. *5'"     !<f.' .»v<5..  F«j.,j..  ;^  -*'i,;^y}-i^;i;p^.h/^i'i^;. 

When  Amelie  gave  her  love  to  Pierre,  she  gave  it 
utterly  and  without  a  scruple  of  reservation.  It  was  so 
easy  to  love  Pierre,  so  impossible  not  to  love  him  ;  nay, 
she  remembered  not  the  time  it  was  otherwise,  or  when  he 
had  not  been  first  and  last  in  her  secret  thoughts  as  he 
was  now  in  her  chaste  confessions,  although  whispered  so 
low  that  her  approving  angel  hardly  caught  the  sound  as  it 
passed  into  the  ear  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

Amdlie's  devotion  was  like  that  of  holy  Sarah  of 
old.  The  image  of  Pierre  mingled  in  her  prayers,  inspir- 
ing them  with  a  fervor  deeper  than  she  dreamt  of.  She 
thanked  God  for  the  love  of  the  one  man  out  of  all  the 
world  who  had  won  her  virgin  heart,  one  whom  she  could 
look  up  to  with  pride  for  his  manhood,  with  reverence  for 
his  greatness  of  soul ;  and  in  return  for  his  love  counted 
the  devotion  of  her  whole  life  as  inadequate  to  repay  it. 

A  warm  soft  wind- blew  gently  down  the  little  valley  of 
the  Lairet  which  wound  and  rippled  over  its  brown  glossy 
pebbles,  murmuring  a  quiet  song  down  in  its  hollow  bed. 
Tufts  of  spiry  grass  clung  to  its  steep  banks,  and  a  few 
wild  flowers  peeped  out  of  nooks  among  the  sere  fallen 
leaves  that  lay  upon  the  st  II  green  sward  on  each  shore  of 
the  little  rivulet. 


"  IX  GOLD  CLASPS,"  ETC. 


S»3 


Pierre  and  Am^Jie  had  been  tempted  by  the  beauty  o£ 
die  Indian  summer  to  dismount  and  send  their  hoises  for 
ward  to  the  city  in  charge  of  a  servant  while  they  walked 
home  by  way  of  the  fields  to  gather  the  last  flowers  o£ 
Autumn  which  Amelie  said  lingered  longest  in  the  deep 
swales  of  the  Lairet. 

A  walk  in  the  golden  sunshine  with  Amelie  alone  amid 
the  quiet  fields,  free  to  speak  his  love,  and  she  to  hear  him 
and  be  glad,  was  a  pleasure  Pierre  had  dreamt  of  but  never 
enjoyed,  since  the  blessed  night  when  they  plighted  their 
troth  to  each  other  by  the  lake  of  Tilly. 

The  betrothal  of  Pierre  and  Amelie  had  been  accepted 
by  their  friends  on  both  sides  as  a  most  fitting  and  desir 
able  match,  but  the  manners  of  the  age  with  respect  to  the 
unmarried,  did  not  admit  of  that  freedom  in  society  which 
prevails  at  the  present  day.  ^  ,  .  r  j^r 
K,>  They  had  seldom  met  save  in  the  presence  of  others, 
and  except  for  a  few  chance  but  blissful  moments,  Pierre 
had  not  been  favored  with  the  company  all  to  himself  of 
his  betrothed. 

Amdlie  was  not  unmindful  of  that,  when  she  gave  a 
willing  consent  to-day  to  walk  with  him  along  the  banks 
of  the  Lairet,  under  the  shady  elms,  birches  and  old  thorns 
that  over  hung  the  path  by  the  little  stream. 

She  felt  with  the  tender  compassion  of  a  woman  for 
the  man  she  loves,  that  he  had  longed  for  more  of  her 
society  than  the  custom  of  the  lime  permitted  him  to  enjoy, 
and  although  rigid  and  precise  in  her  ideas  of  duty,  Amelie 
could  not  persuade  herself  against  her  own  heart,  not  to 
grant  him  this  propitious  hour,  to  converse  with  ease  and 
freedom. 

The  happy  present  was  intoxicating  as  sweet  wine,  and 
the  still  more  happy  future  loomed  up  before  her  imag- 
ination like  a  fairy  land  where  she  was  to  dwell  for  ever 
To  talk  of  it  to-day  was  a  foretaste  of  bliss  for  them  both 
not  to  be  denied ;  so  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Pierre,  she 
sauntered  along  the  banks  of  the  Lairet  conversing  with 
'nn.icent  animation,  and  that  entire  trust  which  their 
Relationship  to  each  other  permitted. 

Pierre  was  now  her  betrothed,  Amelie,  happy  and  con- 
fiding, regarded  iier  lover  as  her  other  self.  She  loved 
him  too  well  to  affect  arjy  unreal  thought  or  feeling,  and 
when  his  eager  admiring  eyes  met  hers,  she  blushed,  but 


$«4 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


would  not  retise  to  let  him  perceive  that  he  »vas  lov^ 
with  the  tenderness  and  devotion  of  her  whole  being.  She 
felt  that  Pierre  loved  her  as  his  own  soul,  and  in  the  ful- 
ness of  her  gratitude,  resolved  that  as  her  past  life  had 
been  one  prayer  for  his  happiness,  so  her  future  should  be 
one  never  ceasing  effort  to  repay  his  love. 

**Pierre,"  said  she  smiling,  "our  horses  are  gone  and  T 
must  now  walk  home  with  you  right  or  wrong.  My  old 
mistress  in  the  Convent  would  shake  her  head  if  she  heard 
of  it,  but  I  care  not  who  blames  me  to-day,  if  you  do  not, 
Pierre  I  " 

"Who  can  blame  you,  darling?  what  you  do  is  ever 
wisest  and  best  in  my  eyes,  except  one  thing,  which  I 
will  confess  now  that  you  are  my  own,  I  cannot  account 
for — "  -t.:  \i.   ■-•.».>■•■     'f^'';- .;-i--!i^:;;i, •;•;.; 

"  I  had  hoped  Pierre,  there  was  no  exception  to  your 
admiration,  you  are  taking  off  my  angel's  wings  already, 
and  leaving  me  a  mere  woman  !  "  replied  she  merrily. 

"  It  is  a  woman  I  want  you  to  be,  darling,  a  woman 
not  faultless,  but  human  as  myself,  a  wife  to  hold  to  me 
and  love  me  despite  my  faults,  not  an  angel  too  bright  and 
too  perfect  to  be  my  other  self." 

"  Dear  Pierre,"  said  she  pressing  his  arm,  "  I  will  be 
that  woman  to  you,  full  enough  of  faults  to  satisfy  you.  An 
angel  I  am  not  and  cannot  be,  nor  wish  to  be  until  we  go 
together  to  the  spirit  land.  I  am  so  glad  I  have  a  fault  for 
which  you  can  blame  me,  if  it  makes  you  love  me  better. 
Indeed  I  own  to  many,  but  what  is  that  one  fault,  Pierre, 
which  you  cannot  account  for  ?  " 

"  That  you  should  have  taken  a  rough  soldier  like  me, 
Am^lie !  that  one  so  fair  and  perfect  in  all  the  graces  of 
womanhood  with  the  world  to  choose  from,  should  have 
permitted  Pierre  Philibert  to  win  her  loving  heart  of 
hearts."  .in 

Am^lie  looked  at  him  with  a  fond  expression  of  re- 
proach. "  Does  that  surprise  you,  Pierre?  you  rough  sol- 
dier, you  little  know,  and  I  will  not  tell  you,  the  way  to  a 
woman's  heart ;  but  for  one  blindfolded  by  so  much  diff- 
idence to  his  own  merits,  you  have  found  the  way  very 
easily  1  Was  it  for  loving  you  that  you  blamed  me  ?  what 
if  I  should  recall  the  fault  ?  "  added  she,  laughing. 

Pierre  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  kissing  devotedly  the 
ring  he  had  placed  upon  her  finger.     "  I  have  no  fear  of 


"IN  GOLD  CLASPS,"  ETC. 


s«$ 


that,  Amelie  !  the  wonder  to  me  is  that  you  could  think  me 
worthy  of  the  priceless  trust  of  your  happiness." 

"  And  the  wonder  to  me,"  replied  she,  "  is  that  youi 
dear  heart  ever  burdened  itself  with  my  happiness.  I  am 
weak  in  myself,  and  only  strong  in  my  resolution  to  be  all 
a  loving  wife  should  be  to  you,  my  Pierre  !  You  wonder 
how  you  gained  my  love  ?  shall  I  tell  you  ?  you  never  gain- 
ed it,  it  was  always  yours  before  you  formed  a  thought  to 
win  it  1  You  are  now  my  betrothed,  Pierre  Philibert,  soon 
to  be  my  husband ;  I  would  not  exchange  my  fortune  to 
become  the  proudest  queen  that  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of 
France." 

Amelie  was  very  happy  to-day.  The  half  stolen  delight 
of  walking  by  the  side  of  Pierre  Philibert,  was  enhanced 
by  the  hope  that  the  fatal  spell  that  bound  Le  Gardeur  to 
the  palace,  had  been  broken,  and  he  would  yet  return  home, 
a  new  man. 

Le  Gardeur  had  only  yesterday,  in  a  moment  of  recol- 
lection of  himself,  and  of  his  sister,  addressed  a  note  to 
Amelie,  asking  pardon  for  his  recent  neglect  of  home,  and 
promising  to  come  and  see  them  on  St.  Martin's  day. 

He  had  heard  of  her  betrothal  to  Pierre.  "  It  was  the 
gladdest  news,"  he  said,  "  that  had  ever  come  to  him  in  his 
life.  He  sent  a  brother's  blessing  upon  them  both,  and 
claimed  the  privilege  of  giving  away  her  hand  to  the 
noblest  man  in  New  France,  Pierre  Philibert." 

Amdlie  showed  the  precious  note  to  Pierre.  It  only 
needed  that  to  complete  their  happiness  for  the  day.  The 
one  cloud  that  had  overshadowed  their  joy  in  their  ap- 
proaching nuptials  was  passing  away,  and  Amelie  was 
prouder  in  the  anticipation  that  Le  Gardeur,  restored  to 
himself,  sober,  and  in  his  right  mind,  was  to  be  present  at 
her  wedding  and  give  her  away,  than  if  the  whole  court  of 
France  with  thousands  of  admiring  spectators  were  to  pay 
her  royal  honors. 

It  was  very  pleasant  under  the  brown  trees  and  bushes 
that  fringed  the  little  brook.  The  gentle  wind  rustled  the 
fallen  leaves  that  strewed  the  earth.  Scarcely  a  sound  else 
mingled  with  the  low  sweet  tones  of  love  and  confidence 
which  fell  from  the  lips  of  Pierre  and  Amdlie  as  they 
loitered  in  the  secluded  pathway. 

The  Summer  birds  had  nearly  all  gone.  The  few  that 
remained  in  the  bushes  no  longer  sang  as  in  th.^.  genial 


^•;j-''^ 


586 


THE  CHI  EN  Et  OP. 


days  of  June,  but  chirped  sad  notes  hopping  solitarily  here 
and  there,  as  if  they  knew  that  the  season  of  joy  was 
passing  away,  and  the  dark  days  of  winter  were  at  hand. 

,  But  nothing  of  this  noted  Pierre  and  Am^lie,  wrapped 
in  the  entrancement  of  each  others  presence  they  only 
observed  nature  so  f.ir  as  it  was  the  reflex  of  their  own 
happy  feelings.  Amdlie  unconsciously  leaned,  as  she  had 
often  dreamed  of  doing,  upon  the  arm  of  Pierre,  who  held 
her  hand  in  his,  gazing  on  her  half  averted  face,  catching 
momentary  glances  of  her  dark  eyes  which  she  cast  down 
abashed  under  the  fondness  which  she  felt  was  filling  them 
with  tears  of  joy.  .         -.afjiii  i 

They  sauntered  on  toward*  a  turn  of  the  stream  where 
a  little  pool  lay  embayed  like  a  smooth  mirror  reflecting 
the  grassy  bank.  Amdlie  sat  down  under  a  tree  while 
Pierre  crossed  over  the  brook  to  gather  on  the  opposite 
side,  some  flowers  which  had  caught  her  eye.      i;  r 

"  Tell  me  which,  Am^lie  ! "  exclaimed  he,  "  for  they 
are  all  yours !  you  are  Flora's  heiress  with  right  to  enter 
into  possession  of  her  whole  kingdom  !  " 

"  The  water  lilies,  Pierre,  those,  and  those,  and  those, 

they  are  to  deck  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires, 

Aunt  has  a  vow  there  and  to-morrow  it  must  be  paid,  I  too ! " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  of  admiration, "a vow! 

let  me  share  in  its  payment,  Amdlie,"  said  he.  / 

You  may !  but  you  shall  not  ask  me  what  it  is.  There 
now  !  do  not  wet  yourself  farther!  you  have  gathered 
more  lilies  than  we  can  carry  home." 

"  But  I  have  my  own  thank-offering  to  make  to  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires,  for  I  think  I  love  God  even  better  for 
yoursake,  Amelie."  *   ;    t   -;     m      ',  :    '^m  ::>?;' 

"  Fie  Pierre,  say  not  that  \  and  yet  I  know  what  you 
mean  !  I  ought  to  reprove  you,  but  for  your  penance  you 
shall  gather  more  lilies ;  for  I  fear  you  need  many  prayers 
and  offerings  to  expiate," — she  hesitated  to  finish  di3 
sentence. — 

"  My  idolatry,  Am^lie,"  said  he,  completing  her  mean- 
ing, ";,,  -  :  ■ii;..^.;  '-r,,  \ ,-'  j.  i:]-  .\  ,  .-/iyt  :f:,-^. 

I  doubt  .  .s  little  better,  Pierre,  if  you  love  me  as 
you  say.     But  you  shall  join  in  my  offering  and  that  will  do 
for  both.     Please  pull  that  one  bunch  of  lilies  and  no  more, 
or  our  Lady  of  Victory  will  judge  you  harder  than  I  do !  " 
■     Pierre  stepped  from  stone  to  stone  over  the  gentle  brook 


m  4   %    :  *' 


lily  here 
joy  WM 
;  hand, 
wrapped 
liey  only 
lieir  own 
;  she  had 
who  held 
catching 
ast  down 
ling  them 

am  where 
reflecting 
tree  while 
I  opposite 

"for  they 
t  to  enter 

and-  those, 

i  Victoires, 

id,  I  too ! " 

n,"avow! 

lis.    There 
gathered 

to  Notre 
better  for 

what  you 
(nance  you 
]ny  prayers 

finish   die 

her  mean- 

_)ve  me  as 

■hat  will  do 

Id  no  more, 

ml  do!" 

intle  brook 


«AV  COLD  ClAS/>s;'  ETC.  ^ 

gathering  the  golden  lilies,  while  Am^lic  clasped  her  hands 
and  silently  thanked  God  for  this  happy  hour  of  her  life. 

She  hardly  dared  trust  heiself  to  look  at  Pierre  except 
by  furtive  glances  of  pride  and  affection  ;  but  as  his  form 
and  features  were  reflected  in  a  shadow  of  manly  beauty 
in  the  still  pool,  she  withdrew  not  her  loving  gaze  from  his 
shadow,  and  leaning  forward  towards  his  image, 

^  .  ,|        "A  thousand  times  she  kissed  him  in  the  brook, 
*'1^  "''       Across  the  flowers  with  bashful  eyelids  down  I  " 

Am^lie  had  royally  given  her  'love  to  Pierre  Philibert, 
She  had  given  it  without  stint  or  measure  and  with  a  depth 
and  strength  of  devotion  of  which  more  facile  natures 
know  nothing. 

Am^lie  was  incapable  of  trifling  with  the  semblance  of 
love.  She  was  a  stranger  to  the  frivolous  coquetry  which 
formed  a  study  and  was  a  science  with  most  of  her  sex. 
She  had  loved  Pierre  Philibert  from  the  first  awakening  of 
her  affections.  She  loved  him  now  with  a  passion  which 
in  her  heart  she  thought  it  no  shame  to  feel  for  her 
betrothed.  She  had  confessed  much  to  Pierre  of  her  love, 
but  shrank  with  virgin  modesty  from  trying  to  make  him 
comprehend  all  the  strength  and  greatness  of  it ;  yet  the 
mere  overflowing  of  her  heart  had  set&med  to  him  like  the 
rich  flood  of  the  glorious  Nile  that  covers  all  the  land, 
enriching  it  with  the  harvests  of  Egypt.  But  even  he  had 
no  full  conception  of  the  magnitude  and  purity  of  that 
affection  which  lay  like  a  great  silence  down  in  the  still 
depths  of  her  soul.        .v.  a- 

It  was  a  world  of  woman's  love  which  God  alone,  its 
creator,  could  measure.  Pierre  got  a  glimpse  of  it  through 
that  wondrous  look  of  her  dark  eyes  which  was  like  the 
opening  of  heaven,  and  a  sudden  revelation  of  the  spiritual 
kingdom.  He  was  lost  in  admiration  not  unmingled  with 
awe  as  of  a  vision  of  something  most  holy,  and  so  it  was ; 
so  is  every  true  woman's  love.  It  is  a  holy  and  sacred 
thing  in  the  sight  of  God  and  should  be  in  the  sight  of  man. 

Pierre  with  his  burthen  of  golden  lilies  came  back  over 
the  brook  and  seated  himself  beside  her,  his  arm  encircled 
her  and  she  held  his  hand  firmly  clasped  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Am^lie,"  said  he,  "  I  be'iieve  now  ii.  the  power  of  fate 
to  remove  mountains  of  difficulty  and  cast  them  into  the 
sea.     How  often  while  watching  the  stars  wheel  silently 


1% 


m  - 


;  t  i 

i  ' 

i  4  •! 


^gg  r^£  C/Z/SAT  D'OR. 

over  my  head  as  I  lay  pillowed  on  a  stone,  while  my  com 
rades  slumbered  round  fhe  camp  fires,  have  I  repeated  my 
prayer  for  Amdlie  De  Repentigny  1  I  had  no  right  to  indulge 
a  hope  of  winning  your  love,  I  was  but  a  rough  soldier, 
very  practical  and  not  at  all  imaginative.  "  She  would  see 
nothing  in  me,"  I  said  ;  "  and  still  I  would  not  have  given 
up  my  hope  for  a  kingdom  ! " 

"  It  was  not  so  hard  after  all,  to  win  what  was  already 
yours,  Pierre,  was  it?"  said  she  with  a  smile  and  a  look  of 
unutterable  sweetness,  "  but  it  was  well  you  asked,  for 
without  asking  you  would  be  like  one  possessing  a  treasure 
of  gold  in  his  field  without  knowing  it,  although  it  was  all 
the  while  there  and  all  his  own.  But  not  a  grain  of  it 
would  you  have  found  without  asking  me,  Pierre  !  "     '   '^-^ 

"  But  having  found  it  I  shall  never  lose  it  again,  dar- 
ling !  "   replied  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom. 

"  Never,  Pierre,  it  is  yours  forever !  "  replied  she,  her 
voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Love  is,  I  think,  the 
treasure  in  heaven  which  rusts  not,  and  which  no  thief 
can  steal." 

"  Amdlie  !  "  said  he  after  a  few  minutes  silence,  "  some 
say  men's  lives  are  counted  not  by  hours  but  by  the  succes- 
sion of  ideas  and  emotions.  If  it  be  so,  I  have  lived  a  cen- 
tury of  happiness  with  you  this  afternoon  !  I  am  old  i  n 
love,  Am^lie  ! " 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  have  you  old  in  love,  Pierre !  love 
is  the  perennial  youth  of  the  soul.  Grande  Mbre  St.  Pierre 
who  has  been  fifty  years  an  Ursuline  and  has  now  the  visions 
which  arc  promised  to  the  old  in  the  latter  days,  tells  me 
that  in  heaven  those  who  love  God  and  one  another  grow 
evermore  youthful ;  the  older  the  more  beautiful !  Is  not 
that  better  than  the  philosophers  teach,  Pierre .? " 

"  Better  than  all  teaching  of  philosophy  are  your  words, 
Amdlie.  Grande  Mere  St.  Pierre  has  discovered  a  truth 
that  the  academy  of  sciences  cannot  reach.  The  immor- 
tality of  Tithonus  was  full  of  decrepitude  and  decay,  a  body 
without  a  soul ;  but  the  immortality  that  springs  from  love 
and  goodness  is  a  fountain  of  everlasting  youth,  because 
the  source  of  it  is  divine.  1  can  well  believe  you,  Ami^lie, 
the  more  years  the  angels  count  under  the  skies  of  heaven, 
the  more  beautiful  and  youthful  they  grow  forever !  It  is 
a  sweet  thought  1  I  thank  you  for  it,  darling!  Had  De 
Soto  loved  as  we  do,  Amdlie,  he  would  have  found  in  the 


'm  COLO  CLASPS,"  arc 


S8» 


heart  of  love  the  fountain  of  life  he  sought  for !  you  see 
darling,"  continued  he  as  he  pressed  her  fondly  to  his  side, 
*'  I  am  an  apt  scholar  of  the  Grande  Mfere's  philosophy." 
I      **  You  must  not  jest,  Pierre,  at  the  expense  of  our  phil 
osophy,"  replied  she   smiling,  "  there  is  more  in  it  than  man 
thinks.  I  sometimes  think  only  women  can  understand  it  I " 

"  Nay,  I  jest  not,  but  believe  it  with  my  whole  soul ! 
How  could  I  do  otherwise  with  its  proof  radiating  from 
those  dear  eyes  of  yours,  bright  enough  to  enlighten  the 
wisest  men  with  a  new  revelation  ? 

He  drew  her  closer,  and  Am(51ie  permitted  him  to  im- 
press a  kiss  on  each  eyelid  as  she  closed  it ;  suddenly  she 
started  up. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "you  said  you  were  a  soldier  and 
so  practical.  I  feel  shame  to  myself  for  being  so  imagin- 
ative and  so  silly.  I  too  would  be  practical  if  I  knew  how. 
This  was  to  be  a  day  of  business  with  us,  was  it  not, 
Pierre?" 

"  And  is  it  not  a  day  of  business,  Amelie  ?  or  are  we 
spending  it  like  holiday  children  wholly  on  pleasure  ?  But 
after  all,  love  is  the  business  of  life,  and  life  is  the  business 
of  eternity, — ^we  are  transacting  it  to-day,  Amelie !  I 
never  was  so  seriously  engaged  as  at  this  moment,  nor 
you  either,  darling !   tell  the  truth  ! " 

Ami^lie  pressed  her  hands  in  his,  "  never,  Pierre,  and 
yet  I  cannot  see  the  old  brown  woods  of  Belmont  rising 
yonder  upon  the  slopes  of  St.  Foye  without  remembering 
my  promise  not  two  hours  old  to  talk  with  you  to-day 
about  the  dear  old  mansion."  .     ,  ^ 

"  That  is  to  be  the  nest  of  as  happy  a  pair  of  lovers  as 
ever  went  to  house-keeping !  and  I  promised  to  keep 
soberly  by  your  side  as  I  am  doing,"  said  he,  mischiev- 
ously twitching  a  stray  lock  of  her  dark  hair,"  and  talk 
with  you  on  the  pretty  banks  of  the  Lairet,  about  the  old 
mansion."  i  • 

"  Yes,  Pierre !  that  was  your  promise,  if  I  would  walk 
this  way  with  you, — where  shall  we  begin  ? " 

"  Here,  Amelie  1  replied  he,  kissing  her  fondly,  "  now 
the  congress  is  opened  1  I  am  your  slave  of  the  wonderful 
lamp,  ready  to  set  up  and  pull  down  the  world  at  youi 
bidding.  The  old  mansion  is  your  own.  It  shall  have  no 
rest  until  it  becomes  within  and  without  a  mirror  of  the 
perfect  taste  and  fancy  of  its  awful  mistress."  -  ^  •  •  — 


S9<> 


THE  atlEN  J^OH, 


"  Not  yet,  Pierre  1  I  will  not  let  you  divert  n^e  fn»m  my 
purpose  by  your  flatteries.  The  dear  old  home  is  perfect, 
but  I  must  have  the  best  suite  of  rooms  in  it  for  your  noble 
father,  and  the  next  best  for  good  Dame  Rochelle.  I  will 
lit  them  up  on  a  plan  of  my  own  and  none  shall  say  me 
nay, — that  is  all  the  change  I  shall  make !  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  and  you  tried  to  frighten  the  slave  of  the 
lamp  with  the  weight  of  your  commands !  a  suite  of  rooms 
for  my  father  and  one  for  good  Dame  Rochelle  I  Really, 
and  what  do  you  devote  to  me,  Am^lie." 

"  O I  all  the  rest  with  its  mistress  included !  for  the 
reason  that  what  is  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough 
*or  you,  Pierre  !  "  said  she  gaily.  '^  -  '^■^^i^^^ 

** You  little  economist!  why  one  would  say  you  had 
3cudied  house-keeping  under  Madame  Painchaud."       i 

"  And  so  I  have  !  You  do  not  know  what  a  treasure  I  am, 
Pierre  !  "  said  she,  laughing  merrily.  "  I  graduated  under 
Mes  Tantes  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Ursulines,  and  received  an 
(ucessit  as  bonne  menagire^  which  in  secret,  I  prize  more 
than  the  crown  of  honor  they  gave  me.    ="  *«i.  u  -?iii  u  k:. 

"  My  fortune  is  made,  and  I  am  a  rich  man  for  life ! " 
exclaimed  Pierre,  clapping  his  hands,  "  why,  I  shall  have 
to  marry  you  like  the  girls  of  Acadia  with  a  silver  thim- 
ble on  your  finger  and  a  pair  of  scissors  at  your  girdle, 
emblems  of  industrious  habits,  and  proofs  of  a  good  house- 
wife!" &:'MjAm>^yn.^-'J:mwm  ^^^  -;«>t  t^^wmmv:}  ^-v.:-.' 
"  Yes,  Pierre !  and  I  will  comb  your  hair  to  my  own 
liking !  Your  valet  is  a  rough  groom  !  "  said  she,  taking  off 
his  hat  and  passing  her  finger  through  his  thick,  fair  locks. 
Pierre,  although  always  dressed  and  trimmed  like  a  gen- 
tleman, really  cared  little  for  the  petit  maitre  fashions  of 
the  day.  Never  had  he  felt  a  thrill  of  such  exquisite  pleas- 
ure as  when  Amdlie's  hands  arranged  his  rough  hair  to  her 
fancy. 

"  My  blessed  Amdlie !  "  said  he,  with  emotion,  pressing 
her  fingers  to  his  lips,  **  never  since  my  mother  combed  my 
boyish  locks  has  a  woman's  hand  touched  my  hair  until 
now  I " 

The  sun  was  gradually  going  down  the  last  slope  of  day, 
ITie  western  sky  glowed  like  a  sea  of  fire,  reflecting  its  rays 
in  the  brook  that  glided  so  smoothly  at  their  feet.  A  few 
cattle  stood  quietly  in  the  water,  full  and  happy,  chewing 
their  cud  and  waiting  for  the  voice  of  the  cow  boy  to  call 


**IN  CLASPS  Oh  GOLD!*  ^TC. 


59< 


them  home  to  the  milking.  The  shadows  were  growing 
longer  upon  the  hill  sides.  The  broad  meadows  were  trem- 
ulous with  the  gentle  evening  breeze.  The  earth  was  bathed 
in  golden  light  and  so  still,  that  no  sound  was  heard  '^ave 
the  occasional  chirp  of  a  bird  and  the  quiet  ripple  oi  iO 
stream  over  the  pebbles,  as  it  flowed  past  at  their  feet. 

The  hour,  the  secluded  nook,  the  calmness  everywhere 
inclined  the  heart  to  confidence  and  tenderness,  grave  but 
not  sad. 

Pierre  and  Am^lie  talked  reverently  of  their  marriage, 
which  was  to  open  to  them  the  portals  of  a  new  life,  when 
hand  in  hand  they  would  walk  together  their  allotted  path- 
way through  the  world,  and  at  the  end  of  that  pathway  out 
of  the  world  into  the  eternal. 

The  apostle  has  in  a  few  words  epitomized  the  meaning 
of  love  which  all  think  they  understand,  and  but  few  reach 
the  knowledge  of.  A  selfish  man  and  a  selfish  woman  love 
selfishly  for  their  own  sakes  ;  but  with  true  men  and  true 
women,  love,  as  St.  Paul  says,  "is  without  dissimulation, 
in  honor  preferring  one  another." 

Am^lie  de  Repentigny  and  Pierre  Philibert  had  this  in 
common,  their  love  had  rooted  itself  deeply  in  secret  and 
in  absence,  long  before  its  glorious  blooming.  It  was  with- 
out dissimulation,  and  in  honor  did  they  truly  prefer  one 
another.    ^     -   ,  ---^  ^^^^■--  -^'c  ■-^^,-.  '■■'^■ 

'  Its  days  of  fruition  alas,  never  came  !  But  why  antici- 
pate ?  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  Happily 
the  day  is  not  sufficient  for  the  good  I  for  the  good  en- 
dures for  ever !  Their  love  never  received  its  consumma- 
tion on  earth  ;  but  for  all  that  it  did  not  fail  to  receive  it  in 
heaven  I 

Am^lie  felt  that  touch  of  sadness  which  is  never  absent 
fiom  the  highest  happiness.  It  is  the  thin  veil  which  shad- 
ows the  brightness  of  the  vision  before  the  eyes  of  mortals. 

Leaning  her  head  fondly  against  the  shoulder  of  Pierre, 
she  bade  him  repeat  to  her  again,  to  her  who  had  not  for- 
gotten one  word  5r  syllable  of  the  tale  he  had  told  her  be- 
fore, of  the  story  of  his  love.  ;    ' 

She  listened  with  moistened  eyelids  and  heaving  bosom 
as  he  told  her  again  of  his  faithfulness  in  the  past,  his  joys 
in  the  present,  and  his  hopes  in  the  future  !  She  feared  to 
look  up  lest  she  should  break  the  charm  ;  but  when  he  had 
ended  she  turned  to  him  passionately  and  kissed  hi  i  lips 


59* 


THE  ClilEN  D'OR. 


and  his  hands,  murmuring,  "  Thanks,  my  Pierre  I   I  will  bt 
a  true  and  loving  wife  to  you ! " 

He  strained  her  to  his  bosom,  and  held  her  fast  as  tf 
feirful  to  let  her  go  1 

"  Her  image  at  that  last  embrace 
All !  little  thought  he  'twas  the  last  I  ** 

Something  cast  its  shadow  over  them,  but  they  heeded 
it  not.  Heeded  nothing  but  the  presence  of  each  other  ! 
These  blissful  moments  were  never  forgotten  by  them. 
Happen  what  would,  Pierre  and  Amdlie  were  united  in  love 
forever  1  The  sun  was  going  down  in  clouds  of  glory.  The 
whole  west  changed  into  a  temple,  dazzling  with  effulgence 
and  hung  with  the  drapery  of  golden  palaces.  The  Tem- 
ple of  Solomon  with  its  lofty  gates  glittering  in  the  morning 
sun  was  but  a  feeble  reflex  of  the  gates  of  heaven  open  at 
this  moment,  as  if  to  let  in  the  pair  who  stood  glorified  in 
that  hour  of  beauty  and  happiness. 

The  vision  closed  !  Dim  twilight  crept  into  the  valley. 
It  was  time  to  return  home.  Pierre  and  Am^lie,  full  of  joy 
in  each  other,  grateful  for  the  happiest  day  in  their  lives, 
hopeful  of  to-morrow  and  many  morrows  after  it,  and  mer- 
cifully blinded  to  what  was  really  before  them,  rose  from 
their  seat  under  the  great  spreading  elm.  They  slowly  re- 
traced the  path  through  the  meadow  leading  to  the  brdge, 
and  reentered  the  highway  which  ran  to  the  city,  where 
Pierre  conducted  Am^lie  home. 


,1,;  ;,.  ,;      CHAPTER  LHI.    i   >, 


THE   MARKET  PLACE  ON   ST.   MARTIN'S   DAY. 


THE  smoky  fog  which  hung  heavily  over  the  city  on  the 
day  of  St.  Martin  lifted  suddenly  as  the  bells  of  the 
Cathedral  ceased  to  chime.  The  sound  of  the  organ,  the 
chanting  of  litanies  within  the  sacred  edifice  mingled  with 
the  voices  and  din  of  the  great  market  hard  by. 

The  sun  shone  large  and  ruddy  through  the  hazy  atmosr 
phere  of  the  Indian  summer.    A  warm  breeze  swept  over 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON  ST,  MAJ<TJ^  \ff  A#  f 


fiUta 
tasif 


leeded 
other  I 
them, 
in  love 
r.  The 
ilgence 
e  Tem- 
lorning 
jpen  at 
ified  in 

valley. 

11  of  joy 

r  lives, 

id  mer- 

e  from 

wly  re- 

brdge, 

,  where 


on  the 

of  the 

tan,  the 

jd  with 

atmosr 
Ipt  over 


the  great  square,  singing  the  requiem  of  Autumn  a«oiif 
the  dark  boughs,  where  only  a  yellow  leaf  here  ath  I.ere 
dangled  and  fluttered  in  the  wind.  The  rest  o(  Summer'i 
foliage  lay  heaped  in  nooks  and  corners  of  the  streets  whither 
it  had  been  swept  by  the  Tiutumnal  gales.  The  first  frost 
had  come  and  gone  like  the  pinch  of  love,  tinging  the 
deciduous  trees  with  a  flush  of  fire  and  but  leaving  the  dark 
pine  woods  and  evergreens  still  darker  amid  the  passing 
glory. 

The  market  place  then  as  now,  occupied  the  open  square 
lying  between  the  great  Cathedral  of  Ste.  Mane  and  the 
College  of  the  Jesuits.  The  latter,  a  vast  edifice,  occupied 
one  side  of  the  square.  Through  its  wide  portal  a  glimpse 
was  had  of  the  gardens  and  broad  avenues  of  ancient  trees, 
sacred  to  the  meditation  and  quiet  exercises  of  the  Rev- 
erend Fathers,  who  walked  about  in  pairs,  according  to  the 
rule  of  their  order  which  rarely  permitted  them  to  go  singly. 

The  market  place  itself  was  lively  this  morning  with  the 
number  of  carts  and  stalls  ranged  on  either  side  of  the 
bright  little  rivulet  which  ran  under  the  old  elms  that  inter- 
sected the  square,  the  trees  affording  shade  and  the  rivulet 
drink  for  man  and  beast. 

A  bustling,  loquaciqus  crowd  of  habitans  and  citizen'j, 
wives  and  maid-servants  were  buying,  selling,  exchanging 
compliments,  or  complaining  of  hard  times.  The  market 
place  was  full,  and  all  were  glad  at  the  termination  of  the 
terrible  war,  and  hopeful  of  the  happy  effect  of  peace  in 
bringing  plenty  back  again  to  the  old  market. 

The  people  bustled  up  and  down,  testing  their  weak 
purses  against  their  strong  desires  to  fill  their  baskets  with 
the  ripe  autumnal  fruits  and  the  products  of  field  and  car- 
den,  river  and  basse  cour  which  lay  temptingly  exposed  in 
the  little  carts  of  the  marketmen  and  women  who  on  every 
side  extolled  the  quality  and  cheapness  of  their  wares. 

There  were  apples  from  the  C6te  de  Beaupr(5,  small  in 
size  but  impregnated  with  the  flavor  of  honey ;  pears,  grown 
in  the  old  orchards  about  Ange  Gardien,  and  grapes  worthy 
of  Bacchus  from  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  with  baskets  of  the 
delicious  bilberries  that  cover  the  wild  hills  of  the  north 
shore,  from  the  first  wane  of  summer  until  late  in  the 
autumn. 

The  drain  of  the  war  had  starved  out  the  butcher's  stallS; 
but  Indians  and  hunters  took  their  places  for  the  nonce 

38 


594 


THE  CniE^r  DU)R. 


with  an  abundance  of  game  of  all  kinds,  which  had  muld 
plied  exceedingly  during  the  years  that  men  had  taken  to 
Killing  Bostonais  an<l  English  instead  of  deer  and  wild  fur 
keys.  4 

The  market  abounded  with  the  products  of  the  chase  by 
land  and  water.  Wild  geese,  swans  and  canards  on  their 
passage  from  the  Bay  of  Hudson  and  a  thousand  northern 
lakes,  paid  heavy  toll  on  the  battures  of  the  Isle  aux  Grucs 
and  on  the  Canardifere,  where  Ihey  congregated  in  scream- 
ing thousands  before  the  closing  in  of  winter  upon  the  St. 
Lawrence.  'jfs^jA-ui 

Fish  was  in  especial  abundance  ;  the  blessing  of  the  old 
Jesuits  still  rested  on  the  waters  of  New  France,  and  the 
fish  swarmed  metaphorically  with  money  in  their  mouths. 

There  were  piles  of  speckled  trout  fit  to  be  eaten  by 
Popes  and  Kings,  taken  in  the  little  pure  lakes  and  streams 
tribu*^ary  to  the  Montmorency.  Lordly  salmon  that  swarm 
ed  in  the  tidal  weirs  along  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
and  huge  eels,  thick  as  the  arm  of  the  fisher  who  drew 
them  up  from  their  rich  river  beds. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  colony  these  luscious  eels  formed 
the  main  staple  of  diet  to  the  citizens  of  Quebec,  who  by 
reason  of  the  scarcity  of  domestic  animals,  kept  a  sort  of 
Lent  the  year  rolindj  but  always  with*  abundant  thankfulness 
and  fear  of  God,  saving  their  souls  while  they  filled  their 
bellies  and  depending  on  the  grace  of  Providence  literally 
for  their  daily  food. 

There  were  sacks  of  meal  ground  in  the  Banal  mills 
of  the  Seigneuries  for  the  people's  bread,  but  the  old  tin- 
ettes  of  yellow  butter,  the  pride  of  the  good  wives  of 
Beauport  and  Lauzon  were  rarely  to  be  seen  and  command- 
ed unheard-of  war  prices !  The  hungry  children  who  used  to 
eat  tartines  of  bread  buttered  on  both  sides,  were  now 
accustomed  to  the  cry  of  their  frugal  mother  as  she  spread 
it  thin  as  if  it  were  gold  leaf :  "  Mes  cnfants,  take  care  of  the 
butter!"    ,,     ,,.„,..,  .,,  .  ,.  ^  '  ,.,„,  ,.rj  ,...;. 

The  Commissaries  of  the  Army,  in  other  words,  the 
agents  of  the  Grand  Company  had  swept  the  settlements 
far  and  near  of  their  herds,  and  the  habitans  soon  discov- 
ered that  the  exposure  for  sale  in  the  market  of  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  dairy,  was  speedily  followed  by  a  visit  from 
the  purveyors  of  the  Army,  and  the  seizure  of  the,ir  re- 
maining cattle.     ._„^^^^    .^,,,,,    ;;.,.    ..,.,;..:,;':>,-.  :>.7^.«U.fM'I 


THE  MARKE:  PLACE  JJV  ST.  MARr/ATS  DAY. 


59S 


Roots  and  other  esculents  of  6cld  and  garden  wera 
more  plentiful  in  the  market,  aniong  which  might  have 
been  seen  the  newly  introduced  potato,  a  vegetable  long 
despised  in  New  France,  then  endured,  and  now  beginning 
to  be  liked  and  widely  cultivated  as  a  prime  article  ot 
sustenance. 

Immense  was*  the  petty  trafficking  done  that  morning 
in  Ihe  market  of  the  upper  town,  amid  the  jangling  of  the 
Church  bells  anil  n  babble  of  cheerful  voices,  such  as  may 
still  be  heard  on  the  self-same  spot  on  a  market  day,  with 
but  little  change  of  language  or  even  of  subject  in  the 
market  talk  of  the  people  frequenting  it. 

At  the  upper  angle  of  the  square  stood  a  lofty  cross 
or  holy  rood,  overtopping  the  low  roofs  of  the  shops  and 
booths  in  its  neighborhood.  About  the  foot  of  the  cross 
was  a  platform  of  timber  raised  a  few  feet  from  the  ground, 
giving  a  commanding  view  of  the  whole  market  place. 

A  crowd  of  habitans  were  gathered  round  this  platform 
listening,  some  with  exclamations  of  approval,  not  unmin- 
gled  on  the  part  of  others  with  sounds  of  dissent,  to  the 
fervent  address  of  one  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers  from  the  Col- 
lege, who  with  Crucifix  in  hand  was  preaching  to  the  peo- 
ple upon  the  vices  and  backslidings  of  the  ti.nes. 

Father  Goupion,  the  Superior  of  the  order  in  New 
France,  a  grave  saturnine  man,  and  several  other  Fathers 
in  close  black  cassocks  and  square  caps,  stood  behind  the 
preacher,  watching  with  keen  eyes  the  faces  of  the  auditory 
as  if  to  discover  who  were  for  and  who  were  against  the 
sentiments  and  opinions  promulgated  by  the  preacher. 

The  storm  of  the  great  Jansenist  controversy,  which 
rent  the  Church  of  France  from  top  to  bottom,  had  not 
spared  the  colony,  where  it  had  early  caused  trouble ;  for 
that  controversy  grew  out  of  the  Gallican  liberties  of  the 
national  Church  and  the  right  of  national  participation  in 
its  administrations  .and  appointments.  The  Jesuits  ever 
fiercely  contested  thes^  liberties,  they  boldly  set  the  tiara 
above  the  crown,  and  Strove  to  subordinate  all  opinions  of 
faith,  morals,  education  and  ecclesiastical  government  to 
the  infallible  judgment  of  the  Pope  alone. 

The  Bishop  and  Clergy  of  New  France  had  labored 
hard  to  preven'  the  introduction  of  that  mischievious  con- 
troversy into  .he  colony,  and  had  for  the  most  part  suc- 
ceeded in  preserving  their  flocks,  if  not  themselves,  frcm 


59^ 


THE  cm  EN  LT  OR. 


its  malign  influence.  The  growing  agitation  in  France, 
however,  made  it  more  difficult  to  keep  down  troublesome 
spirits  in  the  colony,  and  the  idea  got  abroad,  not  without 
some  foundation,  that  the  Society  of  Jesus  had  secret 
commercial  relations  with  the  Friponne.  This  report  fan- 
ned the  mouldering  fires  of  Jansenism  into  a  flame  visible 
enough  and  threatening  enough  to  the  peace  of  the  church 

The  failure  and  bankruptcy  of  Father  Vallette's  enor 
mous  speculations  in  the  West  Indies  had  filled  France 
with  bad  debts  and  protested  obligations  which  the  Society 
of  Jesus  repudiated,  but  which  the  Parliament  of  Paris  order- 
ed them  to  pay.  The  excitement  was  immense  all  over 
the  Kingdom  and  the  colonies.  On  the  part  of  the  order  it 
became  a  fight  for  existence. 

The  Jansenists  and  Molinists  had  long  disputed  the 
five  theological  propositions  in  terms  that  filled  the  vocab- 
ulary of  invective  with  new-coined  words  of  polemical 
warfare,  and  which  afterwards  supplied  the  fiery  orators  of 
the  Revolution  with  an  armory  of  sharpest  weapons.  In 
fine,  the  pens  and  tongues  of  the  rival  controversialists  set 
the  whole  Kingdom  by  the  ears,    r.i  -'^^  ?%     ■      ix^jfi-iw,- 

The  position  of  the  order  was  becoming  daily  more 
critical  in  France.  They  were  envied  for  their  wealth  and 
feared  for  their  ability  and  their  power.  The  secular  clergy 
were  for  the  most  part  against  them.  The  Parliament  of 
Paris  in  a  violent  decree  had  declared  the  Jesuits  to  have 
no  legal  standing  in  France.  The  rising  minister,  the 
Due  de  Choiseul,  was  bent  upon  suppressing  them  for 
their  opposition  to  the  modern  philosophy.  Voltaire  and 
his  followers,  a  growing  host,  thundered  at  them  from  the 
one  side.  The  Vatican  in  a  moment  of  inconsistency  and 
ingratitude,  thundered  at  them  from  the  other.  They  were 
in  the  midst  of  fire,  and  still  their  ability  and  influence  over 
individual  consciences,  and  especially  over  the  female  sex, 
prolonged  their  power  for  fifteen  years,  longer,  when 
Louis  XV.,  driven  to  the  wall  by  the  Jansenists,  issued  his 
memorable  decree  declaring  the  Jesuits  to  be  rebels,  trait- 
ors and  stirrers  up  of  mischief.  The  King  confiscated  their 
possessions,  proscribed  their  persons,  and  banished  them 
from  the  Kingdom  as  ene  nies  of  the  state.  ,<..(.;  5.   . ;  4  , 

The  dissolution  of  the  order  in  France,  was  naturally 
followed  by  its  dissolution  in  Canada,  and  the  great  Col- 
lege of  Quebec,  which  had  sent  out  scholars  to  teich  the 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  O.V  ST.  MARTlfTS  DA  Y. 


597 


people,  missionaries  to  convert  the  heathen,  and  martyrs  to 
die  for  their  faith,  in  every  part  of  North  America  subject 
to  France,  became  a  barrack  for  English  soldiers,  and  such 
it  continued  to  our  day  !  The  Cross  carved  over  the  an* 
cient  gateway,  with  the  sacred  letters  I  H  S  and  the  crown 
of  thorns  surmounting  the  weather-vane  upon  the  top  ol 
its  highest  pinnacle,  alone  remain  to  show  the  original  pur- 
pose of  that  imposing  structure.  But  these  trials  were  yet  to 
come.  The  first  rumbling  of  the  distant  storm -was  as  yet 
only  beginning  to  be  heard  in  New  France. 

Padre  Monti,  an  Italian  newly  arrived  in  the  colony, 
was  a  man  very  different  from  the  venerable  Vimont  and  the 
Jogues  and  the  Lallements,  who  had  preached  the  Evangel 
to  the  wild  tribes  of  the  forest,  and  rejoiced  when  they  won 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  for  themselves. 

Monti  was  a  bold  man  in  his  way,  and  ready  to  dare  any 
bold  deed  in  the  interests  of  religion,  which  he  could  not 
dissociate  from  the  interests  of  his  order.  He  stood  up, 
erect  and  commanding,  upon  the  platform  under  the  Holy 
Rood,  while  he  addressed  with  fiery  eloquence  and  Italian 
gesticulation  the  crowd  of  people  gathered  round  him. 

The  subject  he  chose  was  an  exciting  one.  He  en^ 
larged  upon  the  coming  of  Anti-Christ  and  upon  the  new 
philosophy  of  the  age,  the  growth  of  Gallicanism  in  the 
colony,  with  its  schismatic  progeny  of  Jansenists  and 
Honmtes  Gens,  to  the  discouragement  of  true  religion  and 
the  endangering  of  immortal  souls. 

His  covert  allusions  and  sharp  innuendoes  were 
perfectly  understood  by  his  hearers,  and  signs  of  dissen- 
tient feeling  were  rife  among  the  crowd.  Still  the  people 
continued  to  listen  on  the  whole  respectfully,  for  whatever 
might  be  the  sentiment  of  old  France  with  respect  to  the 
Jesuits,  they  had  in  New  France  inherited  the  profound 
respect  of  the  colonists,  and  deserved  it. 

The  preacher,  the  better  to  excite  the  sympathy  and 
enlist  the  prejudices  of  the  people,  launched  out  into  a 
long  allegory  on  the  suffering  of  Faith,  which  he  described 
as  Christ  laid  on  the  wajside,  stripped,  wounded,  and 
half  dead,  like  the  man  who  went  down  to  Jericho  and  fell 
among  thieves. 

Priest  and  Lev'.te  meaning  the  Jansenists  and  secular 
clergy,  passed  him  by  and  went  on  the  other  side.  The 
good   Samaritan,  meaning  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  had  had 


598 


THE  CH/EN  D'OR. 


compassion  on  him,  bound  up  his  wounds,  pouring  in  oil 
and  wine,  and  took  him  to  the  Inn,  the  Church,  where  they 
left  him  in  charge  of  the  host,  with  two-pence,  the  tithes 
and  offerings  of  the  faithful,  to  take  care  of  him,  with  a 
promise  to  repay  whatever  was  spent  more. 

"There  were  three  crosses  raised  on  Calvary,*'  con- 
tinued the  preacher,  "  one  for  the  impenitent  thief  who 
railed  and  was  damned,  one  for  the  penitent  thief  who 
confessed  his  sin  and  supped  with  his  Lord  in  Paradise  j 
but  Christ's  cross  alone  is  enough  for  us,  let  us  embrace 
and  kiss  that ! " 

The  preacher  turned  round  and  clasped  the  Holy  Rood 
in  his  arms  after  the  fervid  manner  of  Italians,  and  all  his 
hearers  crossed  themselves  and  repeated  amen !  He 
waited  for  the  space  of  a  miserere  2iXiA  went  on.  i*Mi 

"  This  is  all  we  need  to  live  by,  and  die  by.  Oh  I  my 
brothers  I  But  do  we  live  by  it  ?  We  crucify  our  Lord 
daily  by  our  trespasses  and  sins,  but  do  we  also  crucify 
the  thieves  in  our  midst  ?  The  Jansenists  who  rob  God  of 
his  honors,  and  man  of  the  merits  of  his  works !  who  cry 
grace  !  grace  !  when  they  should  cry  work  and  pray !  pray 
and  work  and  earn  as  faithful  laborers — God's  hire  if  it  be 
only  a  penny  in  the  eleventh  hour  !  " 

"  The  Honmtes  Gens  rob  God  of  his  dues,  and  the 
king's  subjects  of  their  hearts,  crying  peace,  peace,  and 
withhold  the  tribute  money  of  Caesar,  the  king's  dues  and 
taxes,  and  appeal  to  the  PaTliamentof  Paris  not  to  register 
the  decrees  of  our  lawful  authorities  !  The  Jansenists  and 
the  Honnetes  Gens  sit  on  high  seats  and  are  protected 
and  cherished  in  king's  houses  ;  yea  !  in  castles ! "  The 
preacher  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  pinnacles  of  the 
Castle  of  St.  Louis,  visible  above  the  housetops  which 
intervened  between  it  and  the  market  place.  ;*iii^- ., 

"  No  wonder  charity  waxeth  cold  in  the  rich,  and  the 
spirit  of  disobedience  increaseth  in  the  poor !  These  are 
pregnant  signs  of  the  consummation  of  the  age,  in  which, 
if  the  days  be  not  shortened,  your  house  shall  soon  be  left 
to  you  desolate  !  " 

"  The  Jansenists  and  Honnetes  Gens  sit  day  after  day  in 
their  seats  like  so  many  Pilates,  asking — *  what  is  Truth  ? 
and  disputing  the  decrees  of  the  Church — with  threats  tc 
refer  them  to  the  PaHiaraent  of  private  judgment !  Se'fentet 
— 0  t  Genimina    Viperarum  !  Quomodo  Jugietis  ajudich 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON  ST.  MARTINS  DAY. 


599 


Gehennct  1  O !  generation  of  vipers  I  How  will  you 
escape  the  damnation  of  hell    " 

"These  are  things,  O,  my  hearers  I  to  call  down  upon 
our  heads  the  sword  of  St.  Michael,  more  terrible  than  the 
sword  of  the  English."  ni^cj 

"The  Scribes  and  the  Pharisees  of  Jansenism  no 
longer  sit  in  Moses*  seat,  to  despute  the  droit  and  the  fait 
from  the  bocage  of  Port  Royal  which  is  covered  with  the 
ruins  of  their  house  and  overgrown  with  nettles,  docks, 
and  all  evil  weeds — the  product  of  their  five  heresies,  con- 
demned like  tares  to  everlasting  fire,  by  the  anathema  of 
the  Vatican  !  But  they  disappear  as  Religieux,  to  reappear 
as  politicians  and  Honnites  Gens!  In  the  seditious 
parliaments  of  Paris  and  Rouen,  and  among  the  Bourgeois 
of  the  colonies,  like  the  Golden  Dog,  they  threaten  to 
bite  the  good  shepherds  who  take  care  of  the  flock  ol 
Christ!" 

A  commotion  and  cries  of  dissent  broke  from  a  portion 
of  the  crowd,  but  the  intrepid  Jesuit  went  on. 

"  The  Jansenists  build  not  the  tombs  of  the  prophets, 
but  only  the  tomb  of  the  anti-prophet,  Diacre  Paris,  of 
St.  Medard,  where  the  uncanonized  saint  amid  convulsions 
of  men  and  women,  wrought  his  two  only  miracles  !  The 
man  who  came  to  the  tomb  to  pray  for  the  restoration  of 
his  one  broken  leg,  was  carried  out  with  two !  and  the 
woman,  whom  the  uncanonized  saint  cured  of  an  issue, 
went"  blind  instead  !  The  prayers  of  St.  Paris  are  naught. 
God  only  heard  them  to  their  confusion." 

A  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally  of  the  preacher,  not  at 
the  irreverence  of  the  remark,  but  at  the  defeat  of  the 
Jansenists,  which  showed  that  half  the  crowd  of  hearers 
at  least,  had  no  sympathy  with  the  teachings  of  Port 
Royal. 

The  laugh,  however,  was  met  with  many  indignant 
denials,  from  another  portion  of  the  crowd,  of  the  preacher's 
version  of  the  miracles  at  the  tomb  of  Diacre  Paris.  One 
side  seemed  as  determir.cd  to  believe,  as  the  others  were 
to  dispute  the  genuineness  of  the  miracles  asserted  to  have 
been  wrought  there  ;  a  point  which  at  that  moment  divided 
France  itself  into  two  uncompromising  theological  camps, 
to  the  intense  delight  of  the  Savans  and  philosophers  who 
ridiculed  both  sides,  and  religion  itself. 

The  king  ordered  the  tomb  to  be  walled  up,  and  no 


(»00 


nfE  CltlEl^  b'OR. 


one  to  be  allowed  to  approach  it.  This  measure  gav« 
occasion  to  the  famous  Jansenist  pasquinade,  written  ovei 
the  gate  of  the  cemetery  of  St.  Medard — 


"f' 


VA 


k 


"  De  par  le  Roy !  Defence  a  Dieu, 
De  plus  operer  en  ce  lieu  !"       ,,  ^, . 


t. 


A  few  gentlemen,  some  in  military,  some  in  fashionable 
civil  attire,  strolled  up  towards  the  crowd,  but  stood  some- 
what aloof,  and  outside  of  it.  The  market  people  pressed 
closer  and  closer  round  the  platform,  listening  with  mouths 
open,  and  eager  ej'es  to  the  sermon,  storing  it  away  in 
their  retentive  memories,  which  would  reproduce  every 
word  of  it,  when  they  sat  round  the  fire-side  in  the  coming 
winter  evenings. 

One  or  two  Recollets  stood  at  a  modest  distance  from 
the  crowd,  still  as  statues,  with  their  hands  hid  in  the 
sleeves  of  their  grey  gowns,  shaking  their  heads  at  the 
arguments,  and  still  more  at  the  invectives  of  the  Preacher ; 
for  the  Recollets  were  accused,  wrongfully  perhaps,  of 
studying  the  five  propositions  of  Port  Royal,  more  than 
beseemed  the  liumble  followers  of  St.  Francis  to  do,  and 
they  either  could  not  or  would  not  repel  the  accusation. 

,*'  The  Jesuits  were  not  a  little  feared  by  the  other 
religious  orders,  for  their  intellectual  superiority — their 
subtle  spirit,  and  untiring  perseverance,  which  by  high- 
ways or  by-ways  never  failed  to  achieve  its  objects.  "  The 
Recollets  were  loved  and  not  feared  at  all.  Too  much 
familiarity  with  all  classes,  especially  with  the  poor,  while 
it  did  not  lessen  the  vr^.ue  of  their  labors,  rubbed  off  some 
of  the  respect  that  was  their  due. 

A  proverb  was  current  in  the  colony,  that  a  fine  pen- 
knife was  needed  to  carve  a  Jesuit,  a  Priest  required  a 
sharp  chisel,  but  an  axe  was  good  enough  to  block  out  a 
Recollet!  yet,  despite  this  homely  opinion  of  the  good 
brothers  of  St.  Francis,  they  came  closer  to  the  people's 
hearts  than  any  other  of  the  religious  orders. 

**  Padre  Monti  deserves  the  best  thanks  of  the  Intendant 
for  this  sermon,"  remarked  the  Sieur  D'Estebe,  to  Le 
Mercier,  who  accompanied  him. 

'f-  "  And  the  worst  thanks  of  His  Excellency  the  Count  I 
It  was  bold  of  the  Italian  to  beard  the  Governor  in  that 

manner !     But  La  Gallissonifere  is  too  great  a  philosopb 


THE  MAR ICET  PLACE  01^  ST.  MAKTIAr'S  DAY.  6ot 


to   mind  a  priest ! "   was  the   half-scof!ing  reply  of  L« 
Mercier. 

"  Is  he  ?  I  do  not  think  so,  Le  Mercier.  I  hate  them 
myself,  but  egad  !  I  am  not  philosoph  enough  to  let  them 
know  it !  One  may  do  so  at  Paris,  but  not  in  New  Fiance. 
Besides,  the  Jesuits  are  just  now  our  fast  friends,  and  it 
does  not  do  to  quarrel  with  your  supporters  I " 

"  True,  D'Estebe !  we  get  no  help  from  the  Recolleta. 
Look  yonder  at  Brothers  Ambrose  and  Daniel!  they  would 
like  to  tie  Padre  Monti  neck  and  heels  with  the  cords  of 
St.  Francis,  and  bind  him  over  to  keep  the  peace  towards 
Port  Royal !  but  the  grey  gowns  are  afraid  of  the  black 
robes.  Padre  Monti  knew  they  would  not  catch  the  ball 
when  he  threw  it.  The  Recollets  are  all  afraid  to  hurl  it 
back." 

"Not  all,"  was  the  reply;  "the  Reverend  Father  de 
Berey  would  have  thrown  it  back  with  a  vengeance  I  But 
I  confess,  Le  Mercier,  the  Padre  is  a  bold  fellow  to  pitch 
into  the  Honnetes  Gens  the  way  he  does.  I  did  not  think 
he  would  have  ventured  upon  it  here  in  the  market,  in  face 
of  so  many  habitans^  who  swear  by  the  Bourgeois  Phili- 
bert. " 

"  O !  it  was  quite  time  to  check  the  prevailing  murmurs 
of  discontent,  and  give  the  Honnetes  Gens  a  hint  to  mode- 
rate their  hostility.  Besides,  the  Jansenists  are  lifting  their 
heads  again  in  France,  saucy  as  ever,  and  we  are  sure  to 
feel  the  effects  of  it  here.     Don't  you  think  so,  D'Estebe  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Le  Mercier,  "  they  say  the  Parliament  o£ 
Paris  and  half  the  Court  are  Jansenists  on  all-fours,  and 
that  the  overthrow  of  the  Jesuits  is  a  settled  thing  among 
the  leading  philosophs  of  Versailles.  De  Choiseul  is  the 
head  and  tail  of  the  plot.  His  itching  fingers  long  to 
touch  the  money  bags  of  the  Society  of  Jesus."* 

"  It  will  be  doomsday  with  the  order,  if  DeChoiseul  get 
the  upper  hand,"  continued  Le  Mercier,  "  Nor  are  we  much 
better  off  here.  The  Count  has  been  fuming  like  the 
kitchen  chimney  of  the  castle,  ever  since  he  got  wind  of 
that  affair  at  Ville  Marie." 

"  What  affair,  Mercier  ? "  added  D'Estebe. 

"  Why,  that  affair  of  the  comptoirs  of  the  Demoiselles 
Desaulniers  at  Sault  St.  Louis.  DeChoiseul  is  making  a 
handle  of  it,  I  assure  you  I  " 

"Oh!  I  heard  of  that  from  the  Intendant.    What  a 


tf 


.^' 


602 


THE  CHIEN  DOR. 


fruitful  text  to  preach  from !  If  the  Recollets  only  had 
wit  and  courage,  how  they  might  retort.  Eh,  Le  Mercier  ? 
but  how  did  it  leak  out  ?  That  secret  was  supposed  to  be 
water  and  fire-proof.  Those  cursed  old  maids  must  have 
babbled  as  women  will." 

"  No ;  the  Demoiselles  Desaulniers  were  tight  as  wax. 
Tliey  never  told  the  secret.  It  was  the  Bourgeois  Philibert, 
the  Golden  Dog,  who  nosed  it  out,  as  he  does  everything 
else  to  our  disadvantage." 

This  was  in  allusion  to  an  immense  fur-trading  establish- 
ment carried  on  in  the  mission  at  Sault  St.  Louis,  in  the 
name  of  a  couple  of  maiden  ladies  of  Montreal.  The  real 
owners  of  the  establisment  being  certain  Jesuit  Fathers, 
who  the  better  to  secure  their  influence  over  the  Iroquois 
of  Caughnawaga  and  to  stop  their  secret  dealings  with  the 
English,  erected  these  coniptoirs  at  Sault  St.  Louis  in  the 
name  of  the  Demoiselles  Desaulniers. 

The  grand  company  encouraged  this  establishment,  caring 
nothing  for  the  religious  considerations  of  the  Jesuits, 
but  hoped  to  secure  the  support  of  the  order  by  allowing 
them  a  secret  share  in  the  fur  trade. 

During  the  war  no  controversy  had  been  raised  respect- 
ing that  establishment,  but  with  the  advent  of  peace  the 
sparks  of  discontent  were  blown  speedily  into  a  flame. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  Marquis  de  Jonquieres  as  Gover- 
nor in  place  of  the  Count  de  la  Gallissonibre,  a  fierce  con- 
troversy began  with  the  college  of  Jesuits  in  regard  to  the 
comptoirs  of  the  Demoiselles  Desaulniers. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  the  Marquis  de  Jonquieres  sum- 
marily decided  all  points  according  to  his  own  view  of  the 
matter,  and  closed  up  the  establishment  by  a  royal  decree. 

This  affair  caused  immense  feeling  and  unpleasantness, 
and  was  afterwards  brought  up  in  judgment  against  the 
Order  in  connection  with  their  avowed  commercial  specu- 
lations in  the  West  Indies,  the  failure  of  which  aggravated 
the  theological  quarrel  with  the  Jansenists,  and  led  to  the 
suppression  of  the  whole  Order  in  France  and  her  colonies. 

The  bold  denunciations  by  the  preacher  against  the 
Honnetes  Gens  and  against  the  people's  friend  and  protector, 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  caused  a  commotion  in  the  croWd 
of  habitans^  who  began  to  utter  louder  and  louder  excla- 
mations of  dissent  and  remonstrance.  A  close  observer 
would  have  noticed  angry  looks  and  clenched  fists  in  many 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON  ST.  AfARTlr/'S  DAY.  603 


parts  of  the  crowd,  pressing  closer  and  closer  round  the 
platform. 

The  signs  of  increasing  tumult  in  the  crowd  did  not 
escape  the  sharp  eyes  of  Father  Giapion,  who,  seeing  that 
the  hot-blooded  Italian  was  over-stepping  tiic  bounds  of 
prudence  in  his  harangue,  called  him  by  name,  and  with  a 
half  angry  sign,  brought  his  sermon  suddenly  to  a  close. 
Padre  Monti  ooeyed  with  the  unquestioning  promptness  of 
an  automaton.  He  stojjped  instantly,  without  rounding 
the  period  or  finishing  the  sentence  that  was  in  his  mouth. 

His  flushed  and  ardent  manner  changed  to  the  calmness 
of  marble,  as  lifting  up  his  hands  with  a  devout  orcmus^  he 
uttered  a  brief  prayer  and  left  the  puzzled  people  to  finish 
his  speech  and  digest  at  leisure  his  singular  sermon. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  the  Janscnists.  Our  Curd  says  they 
are  no  better  than  Calvinists."  remarked  an  old  staid 
habitan  to  his  neighbor.  **'A  good  deed  without  a  word 
spoken,  is  a  better  prayer  for  a  Christian  man  than  a  ship- 
load of  sermons  like  the  Padre's ;  but  lo  !  they  are  all 
going  back  into  the  college." 

"  High  time,"  was  the  reply,  "  High  time.  Broken  heads 
would  have  been  plentiful  as  potatoes  in  the  market,  had 
he  continued  to  denounce  the  Honnetes  Gms  and  the  Golden 
Dog.  If  he  had  only  continued  to  belabor  the  Jansenists, 
nobody  could  feel  sorry.  They  can  be  kicked,  for  they 
have  few  friends.  I  mock  at  St.  Paris,  but  neither  do  I 
believe  in  the  Friponne." 

"  You  say  right,  neighbor.  The  Jesuits  are  too  learned 
for  you  and  me.  I  am  more  afraid  than  fond  of  them.  It 
would  be  long  before  a  plain  honest  Recollet  would  bid 
us  distrust  the  Honjtetes  Gens — the  people's  friends — or 
warn  us  against  the  bite  of  the  Golden  Dog." 

"  Pray,  say  not  so,  Jean  Huot,"  said  a  quiet  voice, 
while  a  gentle  hand  twitched  his  sleeve.  It  was  the  Re- 
ccUet  Brother  Daniel.  "We  only  teach  you  to  fear  God, 
tc  honor  the  King,  and  respect  those  in  authority ;  to  be 
nc  brawlers,  but  gentle,  showing  all  meekness  to  all  men. 
Our  good  Brothers  the  Jesuits  teach  you  the  same  things, 
only  they  set  greater  store  by  the  wise  head  than  by  the 
loving  heart,  unlike  us  poor  Recollets  who  have  only 
wisdom  enough  to  know  that  charity  never  faileth,  while 
knowledge  vanisheth  away,  for  though  we  have  faith  to 
remove  mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  we  are  nothing." 


5«4  T^^  CHJEN  noR. 

The  soft  words  of  Brother  Daniel  fell  like  oil  upon  the 
troubled  waters.  The  angry  crowd  relaxed  its  pressure 
round  the  Holy  Rood  and  dispersed  through  the  market, 
carrying  to  every  cart,  stall  and  group  of  people,  a  feeling 
of  uneasiness,  as  if  the  troubles  of  the  day  were  not  over 
The  sermon  had  excited  the  people,  and  wherever  aclustei 
of  habitans  or  citizens  got  together,  the  Padre's  bold 
attack  upon  the  Governor  and  the  Honnites  Gens  was  dis- 
cussed with  heat  and  acrimony. 

The  market  was  now  thronged  with  people  busily  mak- 
ing their  little  purchases,  and  paying  out  their  money  with 
a  careful  hand,  for  the  hard  times  severely  pinched  the 
purses  and  baskets  of  the  poor. 


'J.  .'^n,:-^     ^l4'■'^ 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


'    "      ■  ■  :     7    *-*- 

■  •  '    ». 

;    '..:  i    ...      V',.''.'.-,-;i 


'i.:,'. 


•>•  ,. 


**  BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE  DOING  THY  WILL." 

IT  was  the  practice  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  to  leave 
his  counting-room  to  walk  through  the  market  place, 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  greetings  he  met,  although  he 
received  them  from  every  side,  nor  to  buy  or  sell  on  his 
own  account,  but  to  note  with  quick,  sympathizing  eye  the 
poor  and  needy,  and  to  relieve  their  wants. 

Especially  did  he  love  to  meet  the  old,  the  feeble,  the 
widow  and  the  orphan,  so  numerous  from  the  devastation 
of  the  long  and  bloody  war. 

He  knew  the  poor  even  better  than  the  rich.  It  was 
his  delight  to  call  them  by  name,  to  fill  their  empty  baskets 
with  good  things,  to  send  them  home  rejoicing,  and  not 
thanking  him  for  it  too  much !  He  carefully  taught  them 
that  he  was  only  a  poor  steward  of  his  Lord' s  goods,  and 
Christ  bade  all  men  be  loving  and  helpful  to  each  other, 

The  Bourgeois  had  another  daily  custom  which  ne  ob- 
served with  unfailing  regularity.  His  table  in  the  House 
of  the  Golden  Dog  was  set  every  day  with  twelve  covers 
and  dishes  for  twelve  guestb  — "  the  twelve  apostles,"  as  he 
gaily  used  to  say,  "  whom  I  love  to  have  dine  with  me,  and 
who  come  to  my  door  in  the  guise  of  poor,  hungry  and 


**BLESSJSD  THEY  WHO  DIE.'*  ETC.  605 

thirsty  men,  needing  meat  and  drink.  Strangers  to  be 
taken  in,  and  sick  wanting  a  friend."  If  no  other  guestt 
came  he  was  always  sure  of  the  "  apostles  "  to  empty  his 
table,and,  while  some  simple  dish  sumced  for  himself,  he  or- 
dered the  whole  banquet  to  be  given  away  to  the  poor.  His 
choice  wines,  which  he  scarce'.^  permitted  himself  to  taste, 
were  removed  from  his  table,  and  sent  to  the  Hotel  Dieu, 
the  great  Convent  of  the  Nuns  Hospitalibres,  for  the  use  of 
the  sick  in  their  charge,  while  the  Bourgeois  returned 
thanks  with  a  heart  more  content  than  if  kings  had  dined 
at  his  table. 

To-day  was  the  day  of  St.  Martin,  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  his  wife,  who  still  lived  in  his  memory  fresh 
as  upon  the  day  he  took  her  away  as  his  bride  from  her 
Norman  home.  Upon  every  recurrence  of  that  day,  and 
upon  some  other  special  times  and  holidays,  his  bounty  was 
doubled,  and  the  Bourgeois  made  preparations,  as  he  jocu- 
larly used  to  say,  "  not  only  for  the  twelve  apostles,  but 
for  the  seventy  disciples  as  well !  '* 

He  had  just  dressed  himself  with  scrupulous  neatness 
in  the  fashion  of  a  plain  gentleman,  as  was  his  wont,  with- 
out a  trace  of  foppery.  .  With  his  stout  gold-headed  cane 
in  his  hand,  he  was  descending  the  stairs  to  go  out  as 
usual  to  the  market,  when  Dame  Rochelle  accosted  him  in 
the  hall.  '?  »f*^v!v  ,: 


;'  :t  ; 


Her  eyes  and  whole  demeanor  wore  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety  as  the  good  Dame  looked  up  in  the  face  of 
the  Bourgeois : 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  market  to-day,  dear  master  I "  said 
she  beseechingly ;  "  I  have  been  there  myself  and  have 
ordered  all  we  need  for  the  due  honor  of  the  day." 

"  Thanks,  good  Dame,  for  remembering  the  blessed  an- 
niversar}',  but  you  know  I  am  expected  in  the  market 
It  is  one  of  my  special  days.  Who  is  to  fill  the  baskets  of 
the  poor  people  who  feel  a  delicacy  about  coming  for  alms 
to  the  door,  unless  I  go.  Charity  fulfils  its  mission  best 
when  it  respects  the  misfortune  of  being  poor  in  the  per- 
sons of  its  recipients.  I  must  make  ir.y  round  of  the  mar- 
ket, good  Dame."  i•:^;  if:  -!^  X'-u^^  -^m.hi  M 
vt'  "And  still,  dear  master,  go  not  to-day  ;  I  never  asked 
you  before  ;  I  do  this  time.  I  fear  some  evil  this  morn- 
ing 1 " 

The  Bourgeois  looked  at  her  inc^uiringly.    H^  knew 


6o6 


THE  CHtEN  lyOR. 


the  good  Dame  too  well  not  to  be  sure  she  had  somt 
weighty  reason  for  her  request. 

**  What  particularly  moves  you  to  this  singulai  request, 
Dame  Rochelle  ? "  asked  he. 

"  A  potent  reason,  master,  but  it  would  not  weigh  a 
grain  with  you  as  with  me.  There  is  this  morning  a  wild 
spirit  afloat — people's  minds  have  been  excited  by  a  ser- 
mon from  one  of  the  College  Fathers.  The  friends  of  the 
Intendant  are  gathered  in  force,  they  say,  to  clear  the  mar- 
ket of  the  Honnetes  Gats.  A  disturbance  is  impending. 
That,  master,  is  one  reason.  My  other  is  a  presentiment 
that  some  harm  will  befall  you  if  you  go  to  the  market  in 
the  midst  of  such  excitement." 

"Thanks,  good  Dame,"  replied  the  Bourgeois  calmly, 
"  both  for  your  information  and  your  presentiment ;  but 
they  only  furnish  an  additional  reason  why  I  should  go  to 
try  to  prevent  any  disturbance  among  my  fellow  citizens." 

"  Still,  master,  you  see  not  what  I  see,  and  hear  not 
what  I  hear,  and  would  not  believe  it  did  I  tell  you  I  I 
beseech  you  go  not  to-day  !  "  exclaimed  she,  imploringly, 
clasping  her  hands  in  the  eagerness  of  her  appeal. 

"  Good  Dame,"  replied  he,  "  I  deeply  respect  your  solici- 
tude, but  I  could  not,  without  losing  all  respect  for  myself 
as  a  gentleman,  stay  away  out  of  any  consideration  of  im- 
pending danger.  I  should  esteem  it  my  duty  all  the  more  to 
go,  if  there  be  danger,  which  I  cannot  believe." 

"  O,  that  Pierre  were  here  to  accompany  you  I  But  at 
least  take  some  servants  with  you,  master,"  implored  the 
Dame,  persisting  in  her  request. 

"  Good  Dame,  I  cannot  consult  fear  when  I  have  duty 
to  perform  ;  besides  I  am  in  no  danger.  I  have  enemies 
enough,  I  know ;  but  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would 
assail  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  in  the  open  market  place  of 
Quebec."  ^       ;►  • 

i  "  Yet,  there  may  be  such  a  bold  man,  master,"  replied 
Bhe.  **  There  are  many  such  men  who  would  consider  they 
did  the  Intendant  and  themselves  good  service  by  com- 
passing your  destruction  I " 

"  May  be  so,  Dame,  but  I  should  be  a  mark  of  scorn  for 
all  men  if  I  evaded  a  duty,  small  or  great,  through  fe/r  of 
the  Intendant,  oi  any  of  his  friends."  v 

"I  knew  my  appeal  would  be  in  vain,  master,  but  for» 
give  my  anxiety.    God  help  you  I    God  defend  you  I*' 


** BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE,"  ETC.  6o| 

She  looked  at  liiin  6xedly  for  a  moment.  He  saw  hei 
features  were  quivering  with  emotion  and  her  eyet  filled 
with  tears. 

"Good  Dame,"  said  he  kindly,  taking  her  hand,  "I 
respect  your  motives,  and  will  so  far  show  my  regard  for 
your  forecast  of  danger  as  to  take  my  sword,  which  after  a 
good  conscience  is  the  best  friend  a  gentleman  can  have  to 
staP'^l  by  him  in  peril.     Please  bring  it  to  me." 

*  Willingly,  master,  and  may  it  be  like  the  sword  of  the 
Cherubim,  to  guard  and  protect  you  to-day !  " 

She  went  into  the  great  hall  for  the  rapier  of  the 
Bourgeois,  which  he  only  wore  on  occasions  of  full  dress 
and  ceremony.  He  took  it  smilingly  from  her  hand,  and, 
throwing  the  belt  over  his  shoulder,  bade  Dame  Ro- 
chelle  good-bye,  and  proceeded  to  the  market. 

The  Dame  looked  earnestly  after  him  until  he  turned 
the  corner  of  the  great  Cathedral,  when,  wiping  her  eyes, 
she  went  into  the  house  and  sat  down  pensively  for  some 
minutes.       '"  •-^•.i'-s^--.  f-  .A-r-.^- 

"  Would  that  Pierre  had  not  gone  to  St.  Ann's  to-day  1" 
cried  she.  "  My  master !  my  noble,  good  master  !  I  reel 
there  is  evil  abroad  for  him  in  the  market  lo-day."  She 
turned  as  was  her  wont  in  time  of  trouble  to  the  open 
Bible  that  ever  lay  upon  her  table,  and  sought  strength  in 
meditation  upon  its  sacred  pages. 

There  was  much  stir  in  the  market  when  the  Bourgeois 
began  his  accustomed  walk  among  the  stalls,  stopping  to 
converse  with  such  friends  as  he  met,  and  especially  with 
the  poor  and  infirm,  who  did  not  follqjv  him — he  hated  to 
be  followed — but  who  stood  waiting  his  arrival  at  certain 
points  which  he  never  failed  to  pass.  The  Bourgeois 
knew  that  his  poor  almsmen  would  be  standing  there,  and 
he  would  no  more  avoid  them  than  he  would  avoid  the 
Governor. 

A  group  of  girls  very  gaily  dressed  loitered  through  the 
market,  purchasing  bouquets  of  the  last  of  autumnal 
flowers,  and  coquetting  with  the  young  men  of  fashion  who 
chose  the  market  place  for  their  morning  promenade,  and 
who  spent  their  smiles  and  wit  freely,  and  sometimes  their 
money,  upon  the  young  ladies  they  expected  to  find  there. 

This  morning  the  Demoiselles  Grandmaison  and  Hebcrt 
were  cheapening  immortelles  and  dry  flowers  to  decorate 


,  M 


M 


THE  CHIEN  DOR, 


their  winter  vases — a  pleasant  fashion  not  out  of  date  U 
the  city  at  the  present  day.  ^ 

The  attention  of  these  young  hulics  was  quite  as  much 
taken  up  with  tiic  talk  of  their  cavaliers  as  with  their 
bargaining,  when  a  quick  exclaniaiion  greeted  them  from  a 
lady  on  horseback,  accompanied  by  the  Chevalier  De 
Pean  She  drew  bridle  sharply  in  front  of  the  group,  and 
leaning  down  from  her  saddle  gave  her  hand  to  the  ladies, 
bidding  them  good  morning  in  a  cheery  voice  which  there 
was  no  mistaking,  although  her  face  was  invisible  behind 
her  veil.  It  was  Angtflique  Des  Meloises,  more  gay  and 
more  fascinating  than  ever. 

She  noticed  two  gentlemen  in  the  group.  "  O  pardon 
me,  Messieurs  Le  Mercier  and  D'Estebe  !  "  said  she,  '*  I  did 
not  perceive  you.  My  veil  is  so  in  the  way  1 "  She  pushed 
it  aside  coquettishly  and  gave  a  finger  to  each  of  the 
gentlemen,  who  returned  her  greeting  with  extreme  polite 
ness. 

"Good  morning!  say  you,  Angdlique,"  exclaimed 
Mademoiselle  Hebert,  "It  is  a  good  noon.  You  have 
slept  rarely  I   How  bright  and  fresh  you  look,  darling!  " 

"  Do  I  not!  "  laughed  Angdlique  in  reply.  "  It  is  the 
morning  air  and  a  good  conscience  make  it !  Are  you 
buying  flowers  ?  I  have  been  to  Sillery  for  mine !  "  said 
she,  patting  her  blooming  cheeks  with  the  end  of  her 
riding  whip.  She  had  no  time  for  further  parley,  for  her 
attention  was  suddenly  directed  by  De  Pean  to  some  stir 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  market,  with  an  invitation  to  her 
to  ride  over  and  see  what  was  the  matter.  Angdique  at 
once  wheeled  her  horse  to  accompany  De  Pean. 

The  group  of  girls  felt  themselves  eclipsed  and  over- 
borne by  the  queenly  airs  of  Ang^lique,  and  were  glad 
when  she  moved  off,  fearing  that  by  some  adroit  man- 
oeuvre she  would  carry  off  their  cavaliers.  It  needed  but 
a  word,  as  they  knew,  to  draw  them  all  after  her  1 

Ang^lique,  under  the  lead  of  De  Pean,  rode  quickly 
towards  the  scene  of  confusion,  where  men  were  gesticula- 
ting fiercely  and  uttering  loud  angry  words,  such  as  usually 
precede  the  drawing  of  swords  and  the  rush  of  combatants. 

To  her  suprise,  she  recognized  Le  Gardeur  De  Repen- 
tigny,  very  drunk,  and  wild  with  anger,  in  the  act  of  leap- 
ing off  his  horse  with  oaths  of  vengeance  against  some  one 
whom  she  could  not  distinguish  in  the  throng.    ,      .. 


"* BLESSED  THEV  WHO  DIE^  ETC. 


«of 


Le  Gardeur  had  just  risen  from  the  gaming  table  where 
he  had  been  playing  all  aight.  He  was  maddened  with 
drink  and  excited  by  great  losses,  which  in  his  rage 
he  called  unfair. 

**  Colonel  St.  Remi  had  rooked  him  at  Piquet/'  he  said, 
''and  refused  him  the  chance  of  an  honorable  gamester  to 
win  back  some  part  of  his  losses.  His  antagonist  had  left 
the  Palace  like  a  sneak  !  and  he  was  riding  round  the  city 
to  find  him  and  horsewhip  him  if  he  would  not  fight  like  a 
gentleman  ! " 

Le  Gardeur  was  accompanied  by  the  Sieur  de  Lantag- 
nac  who,  by  splendid  dissipation,  had  won  his  whole 
confidence.  I.e  Gardeur  when  drunk  thought  the  world 
did  not  contain  a  finer  fellow  than  Lantagnac,  whom  he 
thoroughly  despised  when  sober. 

At  a  hint  from  De  Pean,  the  Sieur  de  Lantagnac  had 
clung  to  Le  Gardeur  that  morning  like  his  shadow,  had 
drunk  with  him  again  and  again,  exciting  his  wrath  against 
St.  Remi ;  but  apparently  keeping  his  own  head  clear 
enough  for  whatever  mischief  De  Pean  had  put  into  it. 

They  rode  together  to  the  market  place,  hearing  that 
St.  Remi  was  at  the  sermon.  Their  object,  as  Le  Gardeur 
believed,  was  to  put  an  unpardonable  insult  upon  St.  Remi, 
by  striking  him  with  his  whip,  and  forcing  him  to  fight 
a  duel  with  Le  Gardeur  or  his  friend.  The  reckless 
De  Lantagnac  asserted  loudly  "  he  did  not  care  a  straw 
which  I " 

Le  Gardeur  and  I  >e  Lantagnac  rode  furiously  through 
the  market,  heedless  of  what  they  encountered  or  whom 
they  ran  over,  and  were  followed  by  a  yell  of  indignation 
from  the  people  who  recognized  them  as  gentlemen  of  the 
Grand  Company. 

It  chanced  that  at  that  moment  a  poor  almsman  of  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert  was  humbly  and  quietly  leaning  on  his 
crutches,  listening  with  bowing  head  and  smiling  lips, 
to  the  kind  inquiries  of  his  benefactor,  as  he  received  his 
accustomed  alms.  '    //     .:  ' 

De  Lantagnac  rode  up  furiously,  followed  by  Le 
Gardeur.  De  Lantagnac  recognized  the  Bourgeois,  who 
stood  in  his  way,  talking  to  the  crippled  soldier.  He 
cursed  him  between  his  teeth  and  lashed  his  horse  with 
intent  to  ride  him  down,  as  if  by  accident. 

The  Bourgeois  saw  them  approach  and  motioned  them 

39 


6io 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


Co  Stop,  but  in  vain.  The  horse  of  De  Lantagnac  jiisl 
swerved  in  its  course,  and  without  checking  his  speed,  ran 
over  the  crippled  man,  who  instantly  rolled  in  the  dust, 
his  face  streaming  with  blood,  from  a  sharp  stroke  of  the 
horse's  shoe  upon  his  forehead. 

Immediately  following  De  Lantagnac,  came  Le  Gar- 
deur,  lashing  his  horse  and  yelling  like  a  demon  to  all  to 
clear  the  way ! 

The  Bourgeois  was  startled  at  this  new  danger,  not  to 
himself — he  thought  not  of  himself — but  to  the  bleeding 
man  lying  prostrate  upon  the  ground.  He  sprang  forward 
to  prevent  Le  Gardeur's  horse  going  over  him. 

He  did  not,  in  the  haste  and  confusion  of  the  moment, 
recognize  Le  Gardeur,  who  inflamed  with  wine  and  frantic 
with  passion,  was  almost  past  recognition  by  any  who  knew 
him  in  his  normal  state.  Nor  did  Le  Gardeur  in  his  frenzy, 
recognize  the  presence  of  the  Bourgeois,  whose  voice  call- 
ing him  by  name,  with  an  appeal  to  his  better  nature, 
would  undoubtedly  have  checked  his  headlong  career. 

But  it  was  not  to  be !  the  terrible  game  of  life,  where 
each  man  is  like  a  pawn  on  the  world's  chess-board, 
the  game  played  by  the  spirits  of  good  and  evil,  was 
played  to-day  for  the  life  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert, 
and   the  good  lost  and  the  evil  won!  ^  - 

The  moment  was  critical.  It  was  one  of  those  points 
of  time  where  the  threads  of  many  lives  and  many  des- 
tinies cross  and  intersect  each  other,  and  thence  part 
different  ways,  leading  to  life  or  death,  happiness  or 
despair  for  ever ! 

Le  Gardeur  spurred  his  horse  madly  over  the  wounded 
man,  who  lay  upon  the  ground ;  but  he  did  not  hear  him, 
he  did  not  see  him  I  Let  it  be  said  for  Le  Gardeur, 
if  aught  can  be  said  in  his  defense,  he  did  not  see  him. 
His  horse  was  Just  about  to  trample  upon  the  prostrate 
cripple  lyirg  in  the  dust,  when  his  bridle  was  suddenly 
anc  firmly  seized  by  the  hand  of  the  Bourgeois,  and 
his  horse  wheeled  round  with  such  violence,  that  rearing 
back  Qpon  his  haunches,  he  almost  threw  his  rider  head- 
long. 

Le  Gardeur,  not  knowing  the  reason  of  this  sudden 
interference,  and  flaming  with  wrath,  leaped  to  the  ground 
just  at  the  moment  when  Angdlique  and  De  Pean  rode  up. 
Le  Gardeur  neither  knew  nor  cared  at  that  moment  who 


\'fv 


**  BLESSED  TIIEV  WHO  DIE;'  ETC. 


it% 


his  antagonist  was  ;  he  saw  k  it  a  bold  presumptuous  man 
who  had  seized  his  bridle,  aid  whom  it  was  his  desire  to 
punish  on  the  spot. 

De  Pean  recognized  the  stately  figure  and  fearless  look 
of  the  Bourgeois,  confronting  Le  Gardeur.  The  triumph 
of  the  Friponne  was  at  hand.  De  Pean  rubbed  his  hands 
with  ecstasy  as  he  called  out  to  Le  Gardeur,  his  voice  ring- 
ing above  the  din  of  the  crowd,  ^^Achevez-ie  /  Finish  him  I 
Le  Gardeur!"  liim---'. 

Ang^lique  sat  upon  her  horse  fixed  as  a  statue  and 
as  pale  as  marble,  not  at  the  danger  of  the  Bourgeois, 
whom  she  at  once  recognized,  but  out  of  fear  for  her  lover, 
exposed  to  the  menaces  of  the  crowd,  who  were  all  on  the 
side  of  the  Bourgeois.  The  flash  and  suddenness  of  the 
catastrophe  came  and  went,  leaving  its  irreparable  train  of 
ruin  behind  it.  Like  a  thunderbolt  that  splits  the  wall  of 
a  palace,  and  strikes  the  king  in  the  midst  of  his  honors  ; 
so  the  Bourgeois  was  stricken  in  the  midst  of  his  good 
works ! 

Le  Gardeur  leaped  down  from  his  horse  and  advanced 
with  a  terrible  imprecation  upon  the  Bourgeois,  and  struck 
him  with  his  whip.  The  brave  old  merchant  had  the  soul 
of  a  marshal  of  France.  His  blood  boiled  at  the  insult, 
he  raised  his  staff  to  ward  off  a  second  blow,  and  struck 
Le  Gardeur  sharply  upon  the  wrist,  making  his  whip  fly 
out  of  his  hand.  Le  Gardeur  instantly  advanced  again 
upon  him,  but  was  pressed  back  by  the  habitans,  who 
rushed  to  the  defence  of  the  Bourgeois.  Then  came  the 
tempter  to  his  ear,  a  word  or  two !  and  the  fate  of  many 
innocent  lives  was  decided  in  a  moment ! 

Le  Gardeur  suddenly  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  heard  a  voice,  a  woman's  voice,  speaking  to  him  in 
passionate  tones.        :  ..  ,  ,.: 

Angdlique  had  forced  her  horse  into  the  thick  of  the 
crowd.  She  was  no  longer  calm  nor  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion, but  her  face  was  flushed  redder  than  fire,  and  her  eyes, 
those  magnetic  orbs,  which  irove  men  mad,  blazed  upon  Le 
Gardeur  with  all  their  ter.ible  influence.  She  had  seen 
him  struck  by  the  Bourgeois,  and  her  anger  was  equal  to 

his  own.        KK.!-  '     :t^-?     :■■:,  ^..^    ■..     ,■■■.'.-:..  ,r     ,    ■ 

De  Pean  saw  the  opportunity. 

"  Angdlique,"  exclaimed  he  "■  the  Bourgeois  strikes  Le 
Garden'  1  What  an  outrage  !  Can  you  bear  it  ? " 


if 


'■'WCHi--" 


6i^ 


THE  Cff/BI\t  irOR. 


**  Never  I "  replied  she,  "  neither  shall  Le  Gardeur  I**  -; 

With  a  plunge  of  her  horse,  she  forced  her  way  close  to 
Le  Gardeur,  and  leaning  over  him,  laid  her  hand  -upon  his 
shoulder,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  choking  with  passion — 

"  Commmiy  Le  Gardeur  /  vous  souffrez  qu*un  Malva 
€omme  (a  vous  abime  de  coups ^  et  vous  portez  I  ^i^e  /  " 

"  What,  Le  Gardeur !  you  allow  a  ruffian  like  that  to  load 
you  with  blows,  and  you  wear  a  sword  ? " 

It  was  enough  !  that  look,  that  word,  would  have  made 
l<e  Gardeur  slaughter  his  father  at  that  moment ! 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  Ang^lique,  and  maddened  by 
her  words  as  much  as  by  the  blow  he  had  received,  Le 
Gardeur  swore  he  would  have  revenge  upon  the  spot. 
With  a  wild  cry,  and  the  strength  and  agility  of  a  panther, 
he  twisted  himself  out  of  the  grasp  of  the  haiitans^  and 
drawing  his  sword,  before  any  man  could  stop  him,  thrust 
it  to  the  hilt  through  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois,  who,  not 
expecting  this  sudden  assault,  had  not  put  himself  in  an 
attitude  of  defense  to  meet  it. 

The  Bourgeois  fell  dying  by  the  side  of  the  bleeding 
man  who  had  just  received  his  alms,  and  in  whose  protec- 
tion he  had  thus  risked  and  lost  his  own  life. 

"  Bravo,  Le  Gardeur !  "  exclaimed  De  Pean,  "  that  was 
the  best  stroke  ever  given  in  New  France !  The  Golden 
Dog  is  done  for,  and  the  Bourgeois  has  paid  his  debt  to 
the  Grand  Company !  ** 

"  Le  Gardeur  looked  up  wildly.  "  Who  is  he,  De  Pean  ?" 
exclaimed  he.     "  What  man  have  I  killed  ?  " 

"The  Bourgeois  Philibert,  who  else!"  shouted  De 
Pean,  with  a  tone  of  exultation. 

Le  Gardeur  uttered  a  wailing  cry,  "  The  Bourgeois  Phil- 
ibert I  have  I  slain  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  ?  De  Pean  lies, 
Angelique !  "  said  he,  suddenly  turning  to  her.  "I  would 
not  kill  a  sparrow  belonging  to  the  Bourgeois  Philibert !  O 
tell  me  De  Pean  lies !  " 

**  De  Pean  does  not  lie,  Le  Gardeur,"  answered  she, 
frightened  at  his  look.  "  The  Bourgeois  struck  you  first  1 
I  saw  him  strike  you  first  with  his  staff.  You  are  a  gentle- 
man, and  would  kill  the  king  if  he  struck  you  like  a  dog 
with  his  staff.  Look  where  they  are  lifting  him  up.  You 
tee  it  is  the  Bourgeois,  and  no  other." 

Le  Gardeur  gave  one  wild  look  and  recognized  the  well- 
known  form  and  features  of  the  Bourgeois.    He  threw  his 


'SLBSSBD  THEY  WHO  J>I£,'  JITV. 


613 


tword  on  the  ground,  exclaiming,  "  Oh  !  oh !  unhappy  man 
that  I  am !  It  is  parricide  !  parricide  !  to  have  slain  the 
father  of  my  brother  Pierre  I  Oh  I  Ang^lique  des  Meloises  I 
you  made  me  draw  my  sword,  and  I  knew  not  who  it  was 
or  what  I  did  I " 

"  I  told  you,  Le  Gardeur,  and  you  are  angry  with  me. 
Eiii  see !  hark  !  what  a  tumult  is  gathering  ;  we  must  get 
out  of  this  throng,  or  we  shall  all  be  killed  as  well  as  the 
Bourgeois  1     Fly,  Le  Gardeur,  fly  I    Gato  the  Palace  ! " 

"  To  hell  sooner ;  never  shall  the  Palace  see  me  again  ! " 
exclaimed  he  madly.  "The  people  shall  kill  me  if  they  will, 
but  save  yourself,  Angdlique !  De  Pean,  lead  her  instantly 
away  from  this  cursed  spot,  or  all  the  blood  is  not  spilt  that 
will  be  spilt  to-day.  This  is  of  your  contriving,  De  Pean!  " 
cried  he,  looking  savagely,  as  if  about  to  spring  upon  him. 

"  You  would  not  harm  me  or  her,  Le  Gardeur  ? "  inter- 
rupted De  Pean,  turning  pale  at  his  fierce  look. 

"  Harm  her !  you  fool,  no !  but  I  will  harm  you  if  you 
do  not  instantly  take  her  away  out  of  this  tumult.  I  must 
see  the  Bourgeois.  Oh,  God !  if  he  be  dead !" 
ik  A  ^'^"^i^t  cry  now  ran  through  the  market  place,  "  The 
Bourg  .  is  killed!  The  Grand  Company  have  assas- 
sinated .iie  Bourgeois  !  "  Men  ran  up  from  every  side, 
shouting  and  gesticulating.  The  news  spread  like  wild- 
fire through  the  city,  and  simultaneously  a  yell  for  ven- 
geance r  ^e  from  the  excited  multitude. 

The  Kecollet  Brother  Daniel  had  been  the  first  to  fly  to 
the  help  of  the  Bourgeois.  His  grey  robe  presently  was  dyed 
red  with  the  blood  of  the  best  friend  and  protector  of  their 
monastery.  But  death  was  too  quick  for  even  one  prayer 
to  be  heard  or  uttered  by  the  dying  man. 

The  grey  brother  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  the 
forehead  of  the  Bourgeois,  who  opened  his  eyes  once,  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  in  the  face  of  the  good  friar,  while  his 
lips  quivered  with  two  inarticulate  words  —  "  Pierre  I 
Amdlie  !  "  That  was  all  1  His  brave  eyes  closed  again  for- 
ever from  the  light  of  the  sun.  The  good  Bourgeois  Phil- 
ibert  was  dead  !  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the 
Lord,"  repeated  the  Recollet.  "  Even  so,  says  the  Spirit, 
for  they  rest  from  their  labors  ! " 

*  De  Pean  had  foreseen  the  likelihood  of  a  popular  com- 
motion. He  was  ready  to  fly  on  the  instant,  but  could  not 
prevail  on  Ang^lique  to  leave  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  kneel 


6i4  7VE  a/IEAr  D'0/(. 

ing  down  by  the  side  of  the  Bourgeois,  lifting  him  in  hit 
arms  and  uttering  the  wildest  accents  of  grief  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  pallid,  imiriovable  face  of  the  friend  of  his  youth. 

'*  That  is  the  assassin  !  and  the  woman,  too ! "  cried  a 
sturdy  habitan.  "  I  heard  her  bid  him  draw  his  sword 
upon  the  Bourgeois  I  " 

The  crowd  for  the  moment  bel  eved  that  De  Pean  had 
been  the  murderer  of  Philibert. 

**  No,  not  he  I  •  I?  was  the  other !  It  was  the  officer 
who  dismounted  !  '  le  drunken  officer  1  Who  was  he  ? 
^\^lere  is  he  ? "  cried  the  habitan^  forcing  his  way  into  the 
presence  of  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  still  kneeling  by  the  side 
of  the  Bourgeois,  and  was  not  seen  for  a  few  moments,  but 
quickly  he  was  identified. 

"  That  is  he  1  "  cried  a  dozen  voices.  "  He  is  looking  if 
he  has  killed  him  1  By  God  1 " 

A  number  of  men  rushed  upon  Le  Gardeur,  who  made 
no  defense,  but  continued  kneeling  beside  the  Recollet 
Brother  Daniel,  over  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois.  He  was 
instantly  seized  by  some  of  the  crowd.  He  held  out  his 
hands  and  bade  them  "  take  him  prisoner,  or  kill  him  on 
the  spot,  if  they  would,  for  it  was  he  who  had  killed  the 
Bourgeois ! " 

Half-a-dozen  swords  were  instantly  drawn  as  if  to  take 
him  at  his  word,  when  the  terrible  shrieks  of  Ang61ique 
pierced  every  ear.  The  crowd  turned  in  astcnishment  to 
see  who  it  was  on  horseback  that  cried  so  terribly :  "  Do 
not  kill  him  !  Do  not  kill  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  I " 
She  called  several  citizens  by  name  and  entreated  thein  to 
help  to  save  him. '  <        /•  >i  A)  .tr>^%«fv?bm 

By  her  sudden  interference,  Ang^lique  caused  a  diver- 
sion in  the  crowd.  Le  Gardeur  rose  up  to  his  feet,  and  many 
persons  recognized  him  with  astonishment  and  incredulity, 
for  no  one  could  believe  that  he  had  killed  the  good  Bour- 
geois, who  was  known  to  have  been  the  warm  friend  of  the 
whole  family  of  De  Repentigny. 

De  Pean,  taking  advantage  of  the  sudden  shift  of  feel- 
ing in  the  crowd,  and  anxious  for  the  safety  of  Ang^lique, 
seized  the  bridle  of  her  horse  to  drag  her  forcibly  out  ol 
the  press,  telling  her  that  her  words  had  been  heard,  and 
in  another  instant  the  whole  mob  w<j  uld  turn  its  fury  upon 
her,  and  in  order  to  save  her  life  she  must  fly. 

"  1  will  not  fly,  De  Pean  !     You  may  fly  yourself,  foi 


** BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE;'  ETC, 


6i 


f3u  are  a  coward !     1'hey  are  going  to  kill  Le  Gardcuii  and 
will  not  forsake  him  I  They  shall  kill  me  first !  " 

*'  But  you  must !  You  shall  Hy !  Hark  !  Le  Gardeut 
is  safe  for  the  present.  Wheel  your  horse  round,  and  you 
will  see  hiiti  standing  up  yonder  quite  safe !  The  crowd 
rather  believe  it  was  1  who  killed  the  Bourgeois,  and  not 
Le  Gardeur !  I  have  a  soul  and  body  to  be  saved  as  well 
as  he!"         :-ni;-j#;'reK;    :,Kr?:    \-->:-<r)x    .I-.-itI'^.m 

'*  Curse  you,  soul  and  body,  De  Pean  !  You  made  me 
doit.  You  put  those  hellish  words  in  my  tnouth  !  I  will 
not  go  until  I  see  Le  Gardeur  safe  I  " 

Angelique  endeavored  frantically  to  approach  J-ie  Gard- 
eur and  could  not,  but  as  she  looked  over  the  surging 
heads  of  the  people  she  could  see  Le  Gardeur  standing  up, 
surrounded  by  a  ring  of  agitated  men  who  did  not  appear, 
however,to  threaten  him  with  any  injury — nay,  looked  at  him 
more  with  wonder  and  pity  than  with  menace  of  injury. 

He  was  a  prisoner,  but  Angelique  did  not  know  it  or  she 
would  not  have  left  him.  As  it  was,  urged  by  the  most 
vehement  objurgations  of  De  Pean,  and  seeing  a  portion  of 
the  crowd  turning  their  furious  looks  towards  herself 
as  she  sat  upon  her  horse,  unable  either  to  go  or  stay,  De 
Pean  suddenly  seized  her  rein  and  spurring  his  own  horse, 
dragged  her  furiously  in  spite  of  herself  out  of  the  tumult. 
They  rode  headlong  to  the  Casernes  of  the  Regiment  of 
Beam,  where  they  took  refuge  for  the  moment  from  the 
execrations  of  the  populace. 

?T  The  hapless  Le  Gardeur  became  suddenly  sobered  and 
conscious  of  the  enormity  of  his  act.  He  called  madly  for 
death  from  the  raging  crov.d.  He  held  out  his  hands  for 
chains  to  bind  a  murderer,  as  he  called  himself  !  But  no 
one  would  strike  him  or  oflEer  to  bind  him.  The  wrath  of 
the  people  was  so  mingled  with  blank  astonishment  at  his 
demeanor,  his  grief  and  his  despair  were  so  evidently 
genuine  and  so  deep,  that  many  said  he  was  mad,  and 
more  an  object  of  pity  than  of  punishm'int. 

At  his  own  reiterated  command  he  was  given  over  to 
the  hands  of  some  soldiers,  and  led  off,  followed  by  a  great 
crowd  of  people,  to  the  main  guard  of  the  Castle  of 
St.  Louis,  where  he  was  left  a  prisoner,  while  another 
portion  of  the  multitude  gathered  about  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy,  surrounded  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois,  which  was 
lifted  off  the  ground  and  borne  aloft  on  me'i's  should* 


6i6 


ThE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


era,  followed  by  wild  cries  and  lamentations,  to  the  h(iiM 
of  the  Golden  Dog, — the  house  which  he  had  left  but 
half  an  hour  before,  full  of  life,  vigor  and  humanity,  look- 
ing before  and  after  as  a  strong  man  looks  who  has  done 
his  duty,  and  who  feels  still  able  to  take  the  world 
upon  his  shoulders  and  carry  it — if  need  were. 

The  sad  procession  moved  slowly  on  amid  the  pressing 
agitated  crowd,  which  asked  and  answered  a  hundred 
eager  questions  in  a  breath.  The  two  poor  Recollet 
brbthers,  Danifr  ar  '  A  ibrose,  walked  side  by  side  before 
the  bleeding  corps*.,  jt  heir  friend,  and  stifled  their  emotions 
by  singing  in  a  broken  voice,  that  few  heard  but  themselves, 
the  words  of  the  solitary  hymn  of  St.  Francis  d'Assisi,  the 
founder  of  their  order  : —  j  '^i-    * 


•*■  r  .'--■ii.i    J, 


"  Praised  be  the  Lord !  by  our  sweet  sister,  Death ! 
From  whom  no  man  escapes,  howe'er  he  try- 
Woe  to  all  those  who  yield  their  parting  breath 
In  mortal  sin !  But  blessed  those  who  die, 
Doing  thy  will  in  that  decisive  hour  I  ;    i,. 

The  second  death  o'er  such  shall  have  no  power ! 
Praise,  blessing  and  thanksgiving  to  my  Lord, 
For  all  He  gives  and  takes  be  He  adored  ! " 


■;■■  ■■';7**m 


::'^^V 


-«.l' 


Dame  Rochelle  heard  the  approaching  noise  and  tumult. 
She  locked  out  of  the  window  and  could  see  the  edge 
of  the  crowd  in  the  market  place  tossing  to  and  fro, 
like  breakers  upon  a  rocky  shore.  The  people  in  the 
streets  were  hurrying  towards  the  market.  Swarms  of 
men  employed  in  the  magazines  of  the  Bourgeois  were 
running  out  of  the  edifice  towards  the  same  spot. 

The  dame  divined  at  once  that  something  had  happened 
to  her  master.  She  uttered  a  fervent  prayer  for  his  safety. 
The  noise  grew  greater,  and  as  she  reached  out  of  the 
window  to  demand  of  passers,  by  what  was  the  matter, 
a  voice  shouted  up  that  the  Bourgeois  was  dead  I  that 
he  had  been  killed  by  the  Grand  Company,  and  they  were 
bringing  him  home  !  " 

The  voice  passed  on,  and  no  one  but  God  heeded 
the  long  wail  of  grief  that  rose  from  the  good  dame  as  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  doorway,  unable  to  proceed 
further.     She  preserved  her  consciousness,  however.     M 

The  crowd  now  swarmed  in  the  streets  about  the  doors 
of  the  house.  Presently  were  heard  the  shuffling  steps  of 
a  number  of  men  in  the  great  hall,  bearing  the  body 


'BLESStD  THEY  WHO  DIB,"  ETC. 


S.7 


of  the  Bourgeois  into  the  large  room,  where  the  sunshint 

was  playing  so  gloriously. 

^'    The  crowd,  impelled  by  a  feeling  of  reverence,  stood 

back ;  only  a  few  ventured  to  come  into  the  house. 

•>    The  rough  habitofis  who  brought  him  in  laid  him  upon 

a  couch  and  gazed  for  some  moments  in  silent  awe  upon 

the   noble  features  so  pale  and   placid  which  now  lay 

motionless  before  them. 

Here  was  a  man  fit  to  rule  an  empire,  ai^  who  did  rule 
the  half  of  New  France !  who  was  no  more  now,  save 
in  the  love  and  gratitude  of  the  people,  than  the  poorest 
piece  of  human  clay  in  the  potter's  field  1  The  great 
leveller  had  passed  his  rule  over  him  as  he  passes  it 
over  every  one  of  us.  The  dead  lion  was  less  now 
than  the  living  dog,  and  the  Golden  Dog  itself  was 
henceforth  only  a  memory,  and  an  epitaph  forever  of 
the  tragedy  of  this  eventful  day ! 

"  O  my  master  I  My  good  noble  master  1 "  exclaimed 
Dame  Rochelle,  as  she  roused  herself  up  and  rushed 
to  the  chamber  of  the  dead.  "  Your  implacable  enemies 
have  killed  you  at  last !  I  knew  it !  O  I  I  knew  that 
your  precious  life  would  one  day  pay  the  penalty  of  your 
truth  and  justice  !  Ar  Pierre  1  O  where  is  he  on  this  day 
of  all  days  of  grief  atiu  sorrow  ? " 

She  wrung  her  hands  at  the  thought  of  Pierre's  absence 
to-day,  and  what  a  welcome  home  awaited  him  1 

The  noise  and  tumult  in  the  street  continued  to 
increase.  The  friends  of  the  Boui^geois  poured  into  the 
house,  among  them  the  Governor  and  La  Come  St.  Luc, 
who  came  with  anxious  looks  and  hasty  steps  to  inquire 
into  the  details  of  the  murder. 

The  Governor,  after  a  short  consultation  with  La  Corne 
St.  Luc,  who  happened  to  be  at  the  castle,  fearing  a  riot 
and  an  attack  upon  the  magazines  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany, ordered  the  troops  immediately  under  arms,  and 
despatched  strong  detachments  under  the  command  of 
careful  and  trusty  officers  to  the  palace  of  the  Intendant, 
and  the  great  warehouse  of  the  Friponne,  and  also  into  the 
market  place,  and  to  the  residence  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
not  knowing  in  what  direction  the  fury  of  the  populace 
might  direct  itself. 

The  orders  were  carried  out  in  a  few  minutes  without 
noise  or  confusion.    The  Count,  with  La  Corne  St.  Luq, 


6iS 


THE  CHIBN  D'Ok. 


whose  counteiance  bore  a  concentration  of  sorrow  and 
anger  wond  -^ul  to  see,  hastened  down  to  the  house  of 
mourning.  Claude  Beauharnois  and  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil 
followed  hastily  after  them.  They  pushed  through  the 
crowd  that  filled  the  Rue  Buade,  and  the  people  took  off 
their  hats,  while  the  air  resounded  with  denunciations  of 
the  Friponne,  and  appeals  for  vengeance  upon  the  assassin 
of  the  Bourgeois.  !^vi^h  ri(.}>«>d  i^«jr« 

The  Governor  and  his  companions  were  moved  to  tears 
at  the'  sight  of  their  murdered  friend  lying  in  his 
bloody  vesture,  which  was  open  to  enable  the  worthy 
Doctor  Gauthier,  who  had  run  in  all  haste,  to  exanJne  the 
still  oozing  wound.  The  RecoUet  Brother  Daniel  still 
knelt  in  silent  prayer  at  his  feet,  while  Dame  Rochelle, 
with  trembling  hands,  arranged  the  drapery  decently 
over  her  dead  master,  repeating  to  herself:—  nj^nvji^ 

"  It  is  the  end  of  trouble  !  and  God  has  mercifully  taken 
him  away  before  he  empties  the  vials  of  his  wrath 
upon  this  New  France,  and  gives  it  up  for  a  possession  to 
our  enemies !  What  says  the  prophet  ?  *  The  righteous 
perisheth  and  no  man  layeth  it  to  heart,  and  merciful  men 
are  taken  away,  none  considering  that  the  righteous 
are  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come  ! '  " 

The  very  heart  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc  seemed  bursting 
in  his  bosom,  and  he  choked  with  agony  as  he  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  forehead  of  his  friend,  and  reflected  that 
the  good  Bourgeois  had  fallen  by  the  sword  of  his  godson, 
the  old  man's  pride — Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ! 

"  Had  death  come  to  him  on  the  broad  common  road 
of  mortality — had  he  died  like  a  soldier  on  the  battle  field," 
exclaimed  La  Corne,  "  I  would  have  had  no  spite  at  Fate. 
But  to  be  stabbed  in  the  midst  of  his  good  deeds  of  alms, 
andHjy  the  hand  of  one  whom  he  loved.  Yes  !  by  God  I 
I  will  say  it !  and  by  one  who  loved  him  !  Oh !  it  is 
terrible.  Count !  Terrible  and  shameful  to  me  as  if  it  had 
been  the  deed  of  my  own  son  !  " 

"  La  Corne  I  I  feel  with  you  the  grief  and  shame  of  such 
a  tragedy  I  But  there  is  a  fearful  mystery  in  this  thing 
which  we  cannot  yet  unravel.  They  say  the  Cheva- 
\\t\  de  Pean  dropped  an  expression  that  sounded  like 
a  plot  I  I  cannot  think  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would 
deliberately  and  with  forethought  have  killed  the  Bour 
geoisi      ,,.-..„• -.„.^  ...,..;-  «....,....-.  ..^.,.   .  ... 


--V!  f!-»^#.-;y'..--*" 


** BLESSED  TIIEY  WHO  DIE,**  BTu 


6:) 


**  On  my  life  he  never  would  I  He  respected  the  Bour 
Keois,  nay  loved  him,  for  the  sake  of  Pierre  Philibert 
ts  well  for  his  own  sake  I  Terrible  as  is  his  crime  he  never 
committed  it  out  of  malice  aforethought!  He  hasbeea 
himself  the  victim  of  some  hellish  plot — for  a  plot 
there  has  been  !  This  has  been  no  chance  medley,  Count  1  *' 
exclaimed  La  Come  St.  Luc  impetuously. 

"  It  looks  like  chance  medley,  but  I  suspect  more  than 
appears  on  the  surface,"  replied  the  Governor.  "  The 
removal  of  the  Bourgeois  decapitates  the  party  of  the 
ffmtutes  Gens — does  it  not  ? ' 

**  Gospel  is  not  more  true  I  The  Bourgeois  was  the  only 
merchant  in  New  France  capable  of  meeting  their  mon- 
opoly and  fighting  them  with  their  own  weapons.  Bigot 
and  the  Grand  Company  will  have  everything  their  own 
way  now." 

riv  "Besides  there  was  the  old  feud  of  the  Golden  Dog," 
continued  the  Governor,  "  Bigot  took  its  allusion  to  the 
Cardinal  as  a  personal  insult  to  himself.  Did  he  not.  La 
Corne  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  and  Bigot  knew  he  deserved  it  equally  with  His 
Eminence,  whose  arch-tool  he  had  been,"  replied  La  Corne. 
"  By  God  !  I  believe  Bigot  has  been  at  the  bottom  of  this 
plot.     It  would  be  worthy  of  his  craft."  — 

"  These  are  points  to  be  considered,  La  Corne.  But 
such  is  the  secresy  of  these  men's  councils  that  I  doubt 
we  may  suspect  more  than  we  shall  ever  be  able  to 
prove."    The  Governor  looked  much  agitated. 

.  "  What  amazes  me,  Count,  is  not  that  the  thing  should 
be  done,  but  that  Le  Gardeur  should  have  done  it  1 " 
exclaimed  La  Corne,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  That  is  the  strangest  circumstance  of  all,  La  Corne, 
observed  the  Governor.  "  The  same  thought  has  struck 
me.  But  he  was  mad  with  wine,  they  say  ;  and  men  who 
upset  their  reason  do  not  seldom  reverse  their  conduct 
towards  their  friends ;  they  are  often  crudest  to  those 
whom  they  love  best."  '  ^* 

'  "I  will  not  believe  but  that  he  was  made  drunk  pur- 
posely to  commit  this  crime  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  strik- 
ing  his  hand  upon  his  thigh.  '*  La  Gardeur  in  his  senses 
would  have  lost  his  right  hand  sooner  than  have  raised  it 
against  the  Bourgeois  ! " 

"I  feel  sure  of  't;  his  friendship  for  Pierre  Philibert, 


ti 


i 


63d 


THE  CN/E//  D  OR. 


to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  was  something  rarely  seen 
now-a-days,"  remarked  the  Count 

La  Come  felt  a  relief  in  bearing  testimony  in  favor  d 
Le  Gardeur.  "  They  loved  one  another  like  brothers,"  said 
he,  "  ind  more  than  brothers.  Bigot  had  corrupted  the 
habit'i,  but  could  never  soil  the  heart  or  lessen  the  love  of 
Le  Gardeur  for  Pierre  Philibert,  or  his  respect  for  the 
Bourgeois,  his  father." 

'^  It  is  a  mystery.  La  Come  ;  I  cannot  fathom  it.  But 
there  is  one  more  danger  to  guard  against/'  said  the 
Governor  meditatively,  "  and  we  have  sorrow  enough 
already  among  our  friends." 

"  What  is  that.  Count  "*.  "  La  Corne  stood  up  erect  as  if 
in  mental  defiance  of  a  new  danger. 

"  Pierre  Philibert  will  return  home  to-night,"  replied 
the  Governor ;  "  he  carries  the  sharpest  sword  in  New 
France.  A  duel  between  him  and  Le  Gardeur  would  crown 
the  machinations  of  the  secret  plotters  in  this  murder.  He 
will  certainly  avenge  his  father's  death,  even  upon  Le 
Gardeur." 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  started  at  this  suggestion,  but  pre- 
sently shook  his  head.  "  My  life  upon  it  1 "  said  he,  "  Le 
Gardeur  would  stand  up  to  receive  the  sword  of  Pierre 
through  his  heart,  but  he  would  never  fight  him !  Besides, 
the  unhappy  boy  is  a  prisoner." 

"  We  will  care  well  for  him  and  keep  him  safe.  He 
shall  have  absolute  justice.  La  Corne,  but  no  favor." 

An  officer  entered  the  room  to  report  to  the  Governor 
that  the  troops  had  reached  their  assigned  posts  and  that 
there  was  no  symptom  of  rioting  among  the  people  in  any 
quarter  of  the  city. 

The  Governor  was  greatly  relieved  by  these  tidings 
"  Now,  La  Corne,"  said  he,  "  we  have  done  what  is  needful 
for  the  public.     I  can  spare  you,  for  I  know  where  your 
heart  yearns  most  to  go,  to  offer  the  consolations  of  a  true 
friend." 

"  Alas,  yes,"  replied  La  Corne  sadly.  "  Men  weep 
tears  of  water,  but  women  tears  of  blood  I  What  is  our 
hardest  grief  compared  with  the  overwhel'Tiing  sorrow  and 
desolation  that  will  pass  over  my  poor  god-daughter, 
Amdlie  de  Repentigny  and  the  ndjle  Lady  Je  Tilly  at  this 
doleful  news ? "  ,^.;,.,  :::rv:^yi^ni^x:-':im^i.^ut%: 

"  Go  comfort  them,  La  Corne,  and  the  angel  cf  conso- 


'•BIBSSBD  UiEY  WHO  D/tr  MTC. 


6ll 


lation  go  with  you  1  '*  the  Governor  shook  him  by  the  hand 
and  wished  him  God-speed. 

La  Come  St.  Luc  instantly  left  the  house.  The  crowd 
uncovered  and  made  way  for  him  as  they  would  have  dona 
for  the  Governor  himself,  as  with  hasty  strides  he  passed 
up  the  Rue  du  Fort  and  on  towards  the  Cape  where  stood 
the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

*'  O  Rigaud,  what  a  day  of  sorrow  this  is  I  "  exclaimed 
the  Governor  to  De  Vaudreuil,  on  their  return  to  the  Castle 
of  St.  Louis ;  "  What  a  bloody  and  disgraceful  event  to 
record  in  the  annals  of  New  France !  " 

"  I  would  give  half  I  have  in  the  world  could  it  be  for- 
ever blotted  out ! "  replied  De  Vaudreuil.  "  Your  friend, 
Herr  Kalm,  has  left  us,  fortunately,  before  he  could 
record  in  his  book,  for  all  Europe  to  read,  that  men  are 
murdered  in  New  France  to  sate  the  vengeance  of  a  Royal 
Intendant  and  fill  the  purses  of  the  greatest  compatty  of 
thieves  that  ever  plundered  a  nation." 

"  Hark,  Rigaud  1  do  not  say  such  things,"  interrupted 
the  Governor,  "  I  trust  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that ;  but  it  shall 
be  seen  into,  if  I  remain  Governor  ct  New  France  I  The 
blood  of  the  noble  Bourgeois  shall  be  required  at  the  hands 
of  all  concerned  in  his  assassination.  The  blame  of  it 
shall  not  rest  wholly  upon  that  unhappy  Le  Gardeur.  We 
will  trace  it  up  to  its  very  origin  and  fountain  head." 

"  Right,  Count !  You  are  true  as  steel !  But  mark 
me!  if  you  begin  to  trace  this  assassination  up  to  its  origin 
and  fountain  head,  your  letters  of  recall  will  be  despatched 
by  the  first  ship  that  leaves  France  after  the  news  reaches 
Versailles ! "  Rigaud  looked  fixedly  at  the  Count  as  he 
said  this.  ;.(.%' 

**  It  may  be  so,  Rigaud,"  replied  the  Count,  sadly  \ 
"strange  things  take  place  under  the  regime  of  the  strange 
women  who  now  rule  the  Court.  Nevertheless,  while  I  am 
here  my  whole  duty  shall  be  done.  In  this  matter  justice 
shall  be  meted  out  with  a  firm  and  impartial  hand,  no 
matter  who  shall  be  incriminated." 

';  The  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  at  once  summoned  a 
number  of  his  most  trusted  and  most  sagacious  councillors 
together — the  Intendant  was  not  one  of  those  summoned— 
to  consider  what  steps  it  behooved  them  to  take  to  provide 
for  the  public  safety  and  to  ensure  the  ends  of  justice  io 
this  lamentable  tragedy. 


6ti 


TUB  CHIRN  D'OM, 


CHAPTER  LV. 


IVIL  KBWS   RIDES   POST. 

7^HE  sunbeams  never  shone  more  golden  through  thi 
casement  of  a  lady's  bower  than  on  that  same  morn- 
ing of  St.  Martin's,  through  the  window  of  the  chamber  cl 
Am^lie  de  Repentigny,  as  she  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
of  young  ladies  holding  earnest  council  over  the  dresses 
ancf  adornments  of  herself  and  companions  who  were  to  be 
her  bridesmaids,  on  hci  marriage  with  Pierre  Philibert. 

Amdiie  had  risen  from  pleasant  dreams.  The  tender 
flush  of  yesterday's  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  Lairet  lin- 
gered on  her  cheek  all  night  long,  like  the  rosy  tint  of  a 
midsummer's  sunset.  The  loving  words  of  Pierre  floated 
through  her  memory  like  a  :>train  of  divine  music,  with  the 
sweet  accompaniment  of  her  own  modest  confessions  erf 
love,  which  she  had  so  frankly  expressed. 

How  full  and  ample  seemed  all  that  Pierre  had  said  to 
her  1  His  words  had  been  glorified  in  her  fervid  imagina- 
tion, while  she  reflected  tremulousy  over  her  own  expres- 
sions, lest  they  might  have  seemed  either  too  forward  or 
too  cold. 

A  girl  who  has  yielded  her  heart  to  a  lover  fiiids  it  not 
easy  to  satisfy  herself, — If  too  fond,  she  fears  he  may  de- 
spise her ;  if  too  reserved,  he  may  doubt  her  affection.  But 
when  the  words  of  betrothal  have  been  spoken  and  its 
precious  pledges  given,  a  true  woman  is  like  Sarah  in  the 
presence  of  Abraham,  bowing  herself,  and  in  spirit  calling 
him  lord.  She  exalts  him  in  her  fancy  to  a  height  of  wor- 
thiness that  justifies  the  worship  of  her  entire  being;  to 
love,  honor  and  obey,  seems  to  her  less  a  duty  than  a 
passionate  delight.  ■■  «"  -     '•  '    '-     ::ii.tr>-i  m  j 

Am^lie's  spirits  over-flowed  with  happiness.  She  had 
dreamed  last  n'ght  of  Elysian  fields,  but  even  the  heavenly 
landscape  had  resembled  the  sloping  shores  of  the  Lake 
de  Tilly  or  the  winding  banks  of  the  pastoral  Lairet. 

Clothed  in  shining  robes,  with  a  garland  of  flowers 
upon  his  head,  which  she  had  placed  there  as  a  sign  that 
he  was  king  of  her  heart  and  the  ruler  of  her  destiny,' Pierre 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST.  6aj 

• 

had  seemed  to  lead  her  by  the  hand,  while  choirs  of  happy 
angels  sang  their  marriage  song  and  blessed  their  urdoa 
forever  and  ever. 

Am^lie's  chamber  was  vocal  with  gaiety  and  laughter ; 
for  with  her  to-day  were  the  chosen  friends  and  life-long 
companions  who  had  ever  shared  her  love  and  confidence. 

These  were,  Hortense  Reauharnois,  happy  ilso  in  !  er 
recent  betrothal  to  Jumonvilie  do  Villiers,  Ifelo'ie  le 
Lotbini^re,  so  tenderly  attached  to  Am^lie  and  whom  of 
all  her  friends  Amdlie  wanted  most  to  call  by  the  name  of 
sister ;  Agathe  the  fair  daughter  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  so 
like  her  father  in  looks  and  spirit,  and  Am^Iie's  cousin, 
Marguerite  de  Repentigny,  the  reflection  of  herself  in  fea- 
ture and  manners. 

There  was  rich  material  in  that  chamber  for  the  con- 
versation of  such  a  group  of  happy  girls.  The  bridal 
trousseau  was  spread  out  before  them,  and  upot.  chair^  ind 
couches  lay  dresses  of  marvellous  fabric  and  beauty,— 
muslins  and  shawls  of  India  and  Cashmere,  and  the  finest 
products  of  the  looms  of  France  and  Holland.  It  ^s  a 
trousseau  fit  for  a  queen  and  an  evidence  at  once  of  *  !ie 
wealth  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  of  her  unbounded  love  for 
her  niece,  Am^lie.  The  gifts  of  Pierre  were  not  mingled 
with  the  rest,  nor  as  yet  had  they  been  shown  to  hei 
bridesmaids — Amdlie  kept  them  for  a  pretty  surprise  upon 
another  day. 

Upon  the  table  stood  a  golden  casket  of  Venetian  work 
manship — the  carvings  of  which  represented  the  marriage  at 
Cana  in  Galilee.  It  was  stored  with  priceless  jewels  which 
dazzled  the  sight  and  presented  a  constellation  of  starry 
gems,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  cm  in  the  New 
World.  It  was  the  gift  of  the  Bourgeois  Pi  .i'  bert  who  gave 
this  splendid  token  of  his  affection  and  utter  contentment 
with  Am^lie,  as  the  bride  of  his  son  and  heir. 

Amdiie  regarded  these  things  with  the  natural  pleasure 
of  apure  and  noble  girl.  She  was  a  true  woman  and  Icved 
beautiful  things  simply  because  of  their  beauty,  but  she 
valued  their  richness  only,  because  it  vas  a  proof  of  the 
love  of  those  whom  she  most  valued  and  most  delighted  to 
please. 

Without  that  ennobling  sentiment  all  the  precious  gifts 
in  the  world,  would  have  seemed  to  her  no  be  Iter  than 
dross,  and  fairy  glamour  of  sticks  and  straw.  ..:.*. 


694 


THE  CHIEN  lyOR. 


W  / 


She  wai  supremely  happy,  and  gay  beyond  her  wont,  tf 
she  sat  this  morning  amidst  her  fair  companions,  dressed  ia 
a  white  robe  soft  and  pure  as  a  fresh  snow  wreath.  Her 
black  tresses  drooped  carelessly  over  her  neck.  Her 
wonderful  eyes  dark  with  excessive  light,  shot  proud  and 
happy  glances  at  her  companions  ;  but  their  tenderest 
expression  was  the  inward  look  she  cast  upon  the  image  of 
Pierre  in  her  own  heart.  Feelings  long  suppressed  were  now 
revealed,  with  shyness  indeed,  but  no  shame,  and  all  the 
world  might  know  if  it  liked  that  Amelie  had  given  the  rich 
treasure  of  her  love  to  Pierre  Philibert.   in  -$:.  < 

She  wore  that  day  for  her  only  ornament  a  golden  cross, 
the  birthday  gift  of  Pierre,  and  a  brooch,  the  gift  of  Le  Gar- 
deur.  0n  her  finger  was  a  ring,  the  pledge  of  her  betrothal, 
which  she  never  aiterwards  removed  for  a  moment,  in 
all  her  subsequent  life.       io  rn.r^   a  vr>?i-   ?i.i 

These  five  girls  equal  in  age  and  almost  in  beauty,  so 
like,  yet  so  dissimilar  had  all  been  companions  at  school, 
and  formed  together  the  fairest  circle  of  society  in  the 
Capital. 

In  the  ease  of  frankest  intimacy  they  met  in  the  chamber 
of  their  friend,  sitting  on  chairs  or  stools  or  kneeling  upon 
the  floor  as  chance  or  fancy  dictated,  while  they  settled  the 
details  of  their  wedding  garments,  with  as  much  seriousness 
as  the  diplomats  at  Aix-La-Chapelle  had  recently  settled 
the  great  treaty  of  peace  for  Europe.     And  why  not  ? 

Woman's  kingdom  comes  closer  to  the  human  heart 
than  a  king's.  Her  accession  to  her  throne,  is  to  her,  and 
to  the  man  she  marries  an  event  of  more  lasting  importance 
t^han  any  other  revolution  in  mundane  things.  It  is  her 
prerogative  to  govern  the  household  where  a  man  lays  up 
ihe  riches  of  his  life.  She  is  Queen  there  wearing  the 
crown,  and  no  true  man  ever  disputes  her  right  of  ruling 
Aer  VvcigAom  jure  divino. 

Hortense  Beauharnois  knelt  in  graceful  abandon  at  the 
feet  of  Amelie,  resting  her  arms  upon  the  lap  of  her  friend, 
holding  her  by  the  hand  as  she  twisted  the  betrothal  ring 
round  and  round  her  slender  finger. 

"  We  little  thought  of  this  in  the  Convent,  at  least  you 
did  not,  Amelie !  "  said  she  with  an  arch  look,  la)ring  her 
finger,  on  which  was  a  ring  given  her  by  Jumonville  de 
Villiers,  by  the  side  of  Amelie's  inger,  as  if  to  compare 


EVIL  ATEHTS  RIDES  POST. 


««s 


**  It  is  a  charming  ring  yours,  Hortense  !  and  one  which 
any  womai  might  be  proud  to  wear,"  said  Am^Iie  in  a  low 
voice  as  she  caressed  the  finger  of  her  friend. 

"I  am  proud  of  it !  "  replied  Hortense  in  a  whisper. 
Except  your  Pierre  I  know  no  gentleman  in  the  world  like 
Jumonville." 

"  You  think  he  resembles  Pierre  ? "  said  Amdlie. 

In  his  noble  ways  he  does  if  not  in  his  looks.  He  has 
hot  Pierre's  stature  nor  steel  blue  Norman  eyes  ;  but  he  is  as 
handsome  in  his  own  way,  and  as  brave  and  generous. 
He  is,  I  admit  proudly,  dark  complexioned  to  a  fault." 

**  What  fault  Hortense  !  "  asked  Amelie,  pressing  her 
hand  and  smiling  in  sympathy  with  her  frieiid. 

"  Nay,  he  has  no  fault,  unless  loving  me  so  much  be  one  f 
Would  I  were  more  worthy  of  him !  but  I  will  try,  to  be,  a 
good  wife  to  Jumonville.  ^  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  a  loving 
one  !  You  too  are  proud  and  happy  to-day,  Amelie !  " 

"  Yes  I  almost  tremble  at  it "  replied  Amelie  gravely  ! 
"  I  am  so  very  happy  darling,  that  I  almost  fear  it  may  be 
the  foreunner  of  some  misfortune.  But  Pierre  comes  home  to 
night  not  to  go  away  again  without  me  ;  do  you  understand  ? 
And  Le  Gardeur  has  written  me  the  kindest  letter  !  My 
brother  will  yet  be  his  own  noble  self  again  !  O  Hortense ' 
you  cannot  comprehend  the  happiness  that  thought  brings 
me!" 

*^  "  Yes  I  can  imagine  it,  were  Claude  and  not  Le  Gar- 
deur the  returning  prodigal !  Dear  Le  Gardeur  I  Shall  I  own 
to  you  Amdlie  ?  It  was  fortunate  that  Jumonville  returned 
when  he  did,  or  I  know  not  what  might  have  happened  to 
me!  It  might  have  been  my  lot  to  become  the  rival  of 
Heloise,  and  like  her  be  triumphed  over  by  Angdlique !" 

"Fortunately  you  escaped !  "  whispered  Amd^lie.  "Poor 
Heloise !  she  would  have  been  comforted  somewhat  had 
you  been  her  rival  instead  of  Ang^lique,  for  she  loves  Le 
Gardeur  so  unselfishly  that  she  would  rejoice  in  his 
happiness  even  at  the  hand  of  another." 

"  Alas  1  Poor  me !  I  could  not  boast  such  angelic 
resignation.  It  is  wicked  to  confess  it  Amelie!  But  if 
Jumonville  would  not  have  let  me  be  the  cause  of  his 
happiness,  I  fear  I  should  not  have  liked  to  hear  of  another 
msdcing  him  happy !  Is  not  that  very  selfish  and  veiy 
wicked  ?  though  it  is  very  natural,"  said  Hortense  witr 
honest  emphasis. 

4.9 


«j6 


THE  CHI  EN  lyOR. 


**  Ah  I  you  do  not  know  yourself  I  Hortense  1  you  ara 
better  than  that  although  I  fear  most  women  would  do  ai 
you  say,"  replied  Amdlie  caressing  her  hand. 

"Well,  never  mind,  you  and  I  are  fortunate,  Am^!ie! 
we  shall  never  be  put  to  the  test!  Pierre  Philibert,  though 
the  pattern  of  courtesy  (b  our  sex,  has  never  given  a  second 
look  at  any  girl  in  the  city  since  he  saw  you  !  " 

"  And  Jumonville  ?  "  asked  Am^lie  archly. 

"  0 1  he  is  a  gallant  of  the  first  water!  He  admires  all 
ladies  so  generally  and  only  one  so  particularly  that  I 
have  no  room  for  jealousy.  But  I  should  die,  Amdlie, 
were  he  unfaithful  1 " 

"  To  you  he  could  not  be,  darling,  nor  I  think  to  any 
one  who  trusted  in  him." 

"  You  two  engaged  ones  are  so  selfish  in  your  happi- 
ness,  that  I  protest  against  any  more  whisperings  of  mutual 
congratulations  ! "  exclaimed  the  lively  Marguerite  de  Re^ 
pentigny,  who  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  foaming  sea  of  silks  and 
muslins,  veils  and  orange  blossoms,  eagerly  discussing  with 
the  bridesmaids  the  respective  merits  of  each  toilette. 

"  I  wish,"  interrupted  the  pretty  Agathe  La  Corne  St. 
Luc,  "  you  would  both  get  married  and  have  done  with  it  1 
It  is  provoking  to  see  you  two  so  insufferably  happy  and  w^ 
looking  on  and — ." 

"  Languishing  ?  Agathe  !  "  replied  Hortense  springing 
up  and  embracing  her,  "  1  will  be  your  bridesmaid;  dear, 
when  among  all  your  admirers  you  can  decide  which  you 
will  take." 

"  Thanks  Hortense  !  I  could  not  have  a  fairer  one. 
But  my  prince  has  not  arrived  yet  to  claim  his  bride.  My 
husband  shall  be  a  king  in  my  eyes,  even  were  he  a  beggar 
in  the  eyes  of  others.  But  if  not  a  king  he  shall  be  an 
officer,  for  I  shall  never  marry  out  of  the  army  I " 

"You  remember  our  school-girl  play,"  —  continued 
Agathe  archly —  ./ 

"  Je  voudrais  bien  me  marier !  *  J  i' 

Mais  j'ai  grand  peur  de  me  tromper —  ,  /     ' 

Je  voudrais  bien  d'un  officier  I  . . ; ,  ^ , ,  ...•    . 

Te  marcherais  a  pas  carr^s —   ,           '  V^V  ; 'AV 
Dans  ma  jolie  chambrette  I  '*    '''  '"* 


■■;?;■    f 


-  '^.'  .i ' 


1  «    '  ' 


)v.!\  ;Tt5i:>, 


Agathe  holding  up  her  pretty  chin,  and  fluttering  her 
dtess  as  sh^  sang  this  merry  doggrel,  marched  with  a 
mock  military  step  to  and  fro  across  the  floor,  wearing  a 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST,  617 

*  garland  of  orange  blossoms,  and  a  veil  upon  ner  head,  and 
with  such  an  air  of  mimicry,  taking  off,  first  Am^ie  and 
then  Hortense,  that  the  whole  bevy  of  girls  laughed  and 
screamed  with  delight,  while  Agathe  continued  her  promen- 
ade singing  the  drollest  impromptus  her  wit  suggested. 

The  sun  of  St.  Martin  shone  gloriously  through  the 
casement,  shedding  an  aureole  of  golden  light  over  the 
group  of  fair  girls.  A  stream  of  slanting  rays  shot  into 
the  little  oratory  so  that  it  looked  to  the  eye  of  Am^lie  like 
the  ladder  of  heaven,  where  the  patriarch  saw  angels 
coscei^ing  and  descending  upon  it. 

As  she  gazed  at  the  singular  appearance,  she  recited  a 
silent  prayer  of  thanks  to  God  for  her  happiness — while 
Heloise  in  a  still  more  spiritual  mood,  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  shoulder  of  Am^lie,  and  also  watched  the  wonderful 
play  of  light  flaming  round  the  cross,  and  thinking  thought* 
she  had  never  given  utterance  to  except  in  her  own  secret 
musings. 

'^^  The  girls  were  startled  in  the  midst  of  their  glee  by  the 
sudden  dashing  past  of  a  horseman,  who  rode  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  followed  by  a  wild  strange  cry,  as  of  many  people 
shouting  together  in  lamentation  and  anger. 

Amdlie  and  Heloise  looked  at  each  other  with  a  strange 
feeling,  but  sat  still,  while  the  rest  rushed  to  the  balcony 
where  they  leaned  eagerly  over  it  to  catch  sight  of  the 
passing  horseman,  and  discover  the  meaning  of  the  loud 
and  still  repeated  cry. 

The  rider  had  disappeared  round  the  angle  of  the  Cape, 
but  the  cry  from  the  city  waxed  still  louder,  as  if  more  and 
more  voices  joined  in  it. 

Presently  men  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  were  seen, 
hurrying  towards  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and  one  or  two 
shot  up  the  long  slope  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  galloping 
towards  the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  talking  and 
gesticulating  in  the  wildest  manner. 

'*In  God's  name,  what  is  the  matter,  Monsieur  I^a 
Force?"  exclaimed  Hortense  as  that  gentleman  rode 
furiously  up  and  checked  his  horse  violently  at  the  sight 
of  the  ladies  upon  the  balcony.  ^ 

Hortense  repeated  her  question.  La  Force  took  off  his 
hat  and  looked  up  puzzled  and  distressed,  "  Is  the  Lady 
de  TJlly  at  home  ? "  inquired  he  eagerly. 

"Not  just  now,  she  has  gone  out,   but  what  is  th« 


6a8 


THE  CHIEN  l/OR. 


matter  in  heaven's  name  ?  "  repeated  she»  as  another  wiM ' 
cry  came  up  from  the  city. 

"  Is  Madamoiselle  Am^lie  home  ? "  again  asked  La 
Force  with  agitated  voice. 

"  She  is  home  !  Heavens  !  have  >ou  some  bad  news  to 
tell  her,  or  the  Lady  de  T'lly  ? "  breathlessly  inquired 
Hortense. 

"  Bad  news  for  both  of  them  !  for  all  of  us !  Hortense  1 
but  I  will  not  be  the  bearer  of  such  terrible  tidings- 
others  are  following  me,  ask  tnem  ?  O,  Hortense !  prepaie 
poor  Amdlie  for  the  worst  n  jws  that  ever  came  to  her." 

The  Sieur  La  Eorce  -ould  not  wait  to  be  further 
questioned — He  rode  off  furiously.    ;  ■     ^  *     i.;-   .^i  >.x«.!:^ 

The  bridesmaids  all  turned  pale  with  affright  at  these 
ominous  words,  and  stood  looking  at  each  other  and  asking 
what  they  could  mean  ? 

Amdlie  and  Heloise  caught  some  of  the  conversation 
between  Hortense  and  La  Force.  They  sprang  up  and  ran 
to  the  balcony,  just  as  two  of  the  servants  of  the  house 
came  rushing  up  with  open  mouths,  staring  eyes,  and 
trembling  with  excitement.  They  did  not  wait  to  be  asked 
what  was  the  mrtter,  but  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  ladies, 
they  shouted  out  the  terrible  news — as  the  manner  of  their 
kind  is,  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences,  "  that  Le 
Gardeur  had  just  killed  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  in  the 
Market  place  I  and  was  himself  either  killed  or  a  prisoner  1 
and  the  people  were  going  to  burn  the  Friponne  and  hang 
the  Intendant  under  the  tablet  of  the  Golden  Dog,  and  all 
the  city  was  going  to  be  destroyed ! 

The  servants  having  communicated  this  piece  of  wild 
intelligence,  instantly  rushed  into  the  house,  and  repeated 
it  to  the  household — filling  the  mansion  in  a  few  moments 
with  shrieks  and  confusion.        i^^  «..  .i^  x /t'  f  -^[k  .■■.<    jj 

It  was  in  vain,  Hortense  and  Agathe  La  Corne  St. 
Luc,  strove  to  withhold  the  terrible  truth  from  Amdlie— 
Her  friends  endeavored  wi..h  kindly  force  and  eager  ex- 
h: rations  to  prevent  her  coming  to  the  balcony,  but  she 
would  not  be  stayed — In  her  excitement  she  had  the 
strength  of  one  of  God's  angels.  She  had  caught  enough 
of  the  speech  of  the  serv  ints  to  gather  up  its  sense  into  a 
connected  whole,  and  in  a  moment  of  terrible  enlightenment 
thfit  came  like  a  thunderbolt  driven  through  her  soul,  she 
understood  the  whole  significance  of  their  tidings. 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST. 


629 


Her  hapless  brother  maddened  with  disappointment, 
drink  and  desperation  hail  killed  the  father  of  Pierre  1  the 
father  of  her  betrothed  husband  !  his  own  friend  and  heri^ 
why  or  how,  was  a  mystery  of  amazement,  fisr?  t, 
f>f  She  saw  at  a  glance  all  the  ruin  of  it  1  Her  brother  a 
murderer — the  Bourgeois  a  bleeding  corpse!  Pierre  her 
lover  and  her  pride  lost — lost,  to  her  forever !  The  blood  of 
his  father  rising  up  between  them  calling  for  vengeance 
upon  Le  Gardeur  and  invoking  a  curse  upon  the  whole 
house  of  Repentigny.  -      i'l  i  li 

i /,  The  heart  of  Am^lie,  but  a  few  moments  ago  expanding 
with  joy  and  overflowing  with  the  tenderest  emotions  of  a 
loving  bride,  suddenly  collapsed  and  shrivelled  like  a  leaf, 
in  the  fire  of  this  unlooked-for  catastrophe. 

She  stared  wildly  and  imploringly  in  the  countenances 
of  her  trembling  companions,  as  if  for  help,  but  no  human 
help  could  avail  her.  She  spake  not,  but  uttering  one 
long  agonizing  scream,  fell  senseless  upon  the  bosom  of 
Heloise  de  Lotbini^re — who  herself  nigh  fainting,  bore 
Am^lie  with  the  assistance  of  her  friends  to  a  couch  where 
she  lay  unconscious  of  the  tears  and  wailing  that  surround- 
ed her. 

In  the  absence  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  Marguerite  de 


>i. 


Repentigny,  with  the  presence  of  mind  so  characteristic 
of  her  family,  ordered  the  servants  to  their  duties,  and  the 
doors  to  be  shut  against  all  visitors  from  the  city,  numbers 
of  whom  were  hurrying  up  to  the  Cape,  bearing  the  doleful 
tidings — and  anxious  to  sympathize  with  their  distress. 
r;  Madame  Couillard,  Madame  de  Grandmaison  and 
other  neighbors  near  and  far  vainly  knocked  at  the  door 
of  the  ma»Jsion — Marguerite  was  inexorable.  She  would 
not  have  Am61ie  gazed  upon  or  made  a  subject  of  comment, 
or  of  curiosity,  or  even  sympathy  to  the  idle  gossips  of  the 
city. 

Marguerite  with  her  weeping  companions  remained  in 
the  chamber  of  Amdlie  watching  eagerly  for  some  sign  of 
returning  consciousness,  and  assiduously  administering 
such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand. 

Their  patience  and  tenderness  were  at  last  rewarded — 
Amelic  gave  a  flutter  of  reviving  life.  Her  dark  eyes 
opened  and  stareil  wildly  for  a  moment  at  her  companions 
with  a  blank  look,  un'  il  they  rested  upon  the  veil  and  orange 
blossoms  on  the  head  of  Agathe,  who  had  put  them  on  in 


r 


^^o 


THE  CHI  EN  lyoit. 


fiiivh  a  merry  mood  and  forgotten  in  the  sudden  catastrophe 
to  take  tliem  off  igam,  \w:\  ■» 

The  sight  of  the  bridal  vei,^  and  wreath  seemed  to  rouse 
Am^lie  to  consciovisness.  Th<  terrible  news  of  the  murder 
of  the  Bourgeois  by  Le  Gardeur,  flashed  upon  her  mind 
and  she  pressed  her  burning  eyeUds  hard  shut  with  her 
hands,  as  if  not  to  see  the  hideous  thought. 

Her  companions  wept,  bit  Am6lie found  no  relkif  u 
tears  as  she  murmured  the  ;.ime  of  the  Bourgeoi  ,  I.- 
Gardeur  and  Pierre. 

They  spoke  softly  to  her  in  tones  of  ienderest  sympathy ; 
but  she  scarcely  heeded  them,  absor^>ed  as  sJui  was  in 
deepest  despair,  and  still  pre«^sing  her  eyes  shut,  as  if  she 
had  done  with  day  and  cared  no  more  to  see  the  bright 
sunshine  that  streamed  through  the  lattice.  The  past, 
present  ad  future  of  her  whole  life  started  up  before  her 
in  terrible  distinctness,  and  seemed  concentrated  In  one 
present  spot  of  m<  iital  anguish. 

Amdlie  came  oi  an  sieroic  lace,  stern  to  endure  pain 
as  to  inflict  it,  capu ji e  of  unshrinking  fortitude  and  of 
desperate  resolves.  A  few  moments  of  terrible  contem- 
plation decided  her  forever,  changed  the  whole  current  of 
her  life,  and  overthrew  as  with  an  earthquake,  the  gorgeous 
palace  of  her  maiden  hopes  and  long  cherished  anticipa- 
tions of  love  and  happiness  as  the  wife  of  Pierre  Philibert ! 

She  saw  it  all !  there  was  no  room  for  hope  !  no  chance 
of  averting  the  fatal  doom  that  had  fallen  upon  her  I  Her 
life  as  she  had  long  pictured  it  to  her  imagination,  was 
done  aid  ended !  Her  projected  marriage  with  Pierre 
Philibert  ?  It  was  like  sudden  death !  In  one  moment 
the  hand  of  God  had  transported  her  from  the  living  to 
the  dead  world  of  woman's  love !  A  terrible  crime  had 
been  per  petrated,  and  she,  innocent  as  she  was,  must  bear 
the  burden  of  punishment.  She  had  but  one  object  now 
to  live  for,  to  put  on  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  wear  her 
knees  out  in  prayer  before  God,  imploring  forgiveness  and 
meic^.  upon  her  unhappy  brother  and  expiate  the  righteous 
blood  .  f  the  just  man  who  had  been  slain  by  him. 

She  rose  hastily  and  stood  up.  Her  face  was  beautitul 
as  the  face  of  a  marble  Niobe,  bat  as  pale,  and  as  fuli  of 
anguish.        ■•^^i:-  ■:■:<'      .    '•  ^  m  ■  ;;''.;3  ^r-rt;.."*;-^ 

"My  loving  bridesmaids,**  said  she,  "it  \%  nciv?  all 
over  with  poor  Am^lie  de  Repentigny  1  tell  Pierre,'*  and 


BV/r,  NEWS  ft/DF.S  POST. 


«3« 


here  sl.t  sobbed,  almost  choking  in  her  grief,  "  teil 
Pierre  not  to  hate  me  for  this  blood  that  lies  on  the  thresh- 
old of  our  house  I  Tell  him  how  truly  and  faitiifuliy  I  was 
preparing  to  devote  myself  to  his  happiness  as  his  bride 
and  wife;  tell  him  how  1  loved  him,  and  I  only  forsjike 
him  because  it  is  the  inexorable  decree  of  my  sad  fate ; 
not  my  will,  but  my  cruel  misfortune  !  But  I  know  his  nobla 
nature  ;  he  will  pity,  not  hate  me.  Te  1  him  it  will  even 
rejoice  me  where  I  am  going,  to  know  that  Pierre  Phil- 
ibert  still  loves  me.  I  cannot,  dare  not  ask  him  to  pardon 
Le  Gardeur !  I  dare  not  pardon  him  myself  1  But  I  know 
Pierre  will  be  just  and  merciful  to  my  poor  brother,  even 
in  this  hour  of  doom  !  " 

"  And  now,"  continued  she,  speaking  with  a  terrible 
energy,  "  Put  away  these  bridal  deceits  !  they  will  never 
be  worn  by  me  1  I  have  a  garb  more  becoming  the  bridal 
of  death ;  more  fitting  to  wear  by  the  sister  of — O,  God  1 
I  was  going  to  say,  of  a  murderer  1  " 

Am^lie,  with  a  wild  desperation,  gathered  up  the  gay 
robes  and  garlands,  and  threw  them  in  a  heap  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  chamber.  "  My  glory  is  departed  !  "  said  she, 
"  O,  Hortense,  I  am  punished  for  the  pride  I  took  in 
them  I  Yet  it  was  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  sake  of  him, 
I  took  pride  in  them  I  Bestow  them  I  pray  you  upon  some 
more  happy  girl,  who  is  poor  in  fortune,  but  rich  in  love, 
who  will  wear  them  at  her  bridal,  instead  of  the  unhappv 
Amdlie  I " 

'  The  group  of  girls  beheld  her,  while  their  eyes  were 
swimming  with  tears.  "  I  have  long,  long  kept  a  bridal 
veil  in  my  closet,"  she  weat  r,.-,^  «  and  knew  not  it  was  to 
be  mine  \ "  Opening  a  i.drobe,  she  took  out  a  long 
black  veil.  It  had  belonged  to  her  grand-aunt,  the  nun, 
Madelaine  de  Repentigny,  and  was  kept  as  an  heirloom  in 
her  family. 

"This,"  said  she,  "shall  be  mine  till  death  I  Embrace 
me  0,  my  sisters,  my  bridesmaids  and  companions  1  I  go 
now  to  the  Ursulines  to  kneel  at  the  door  and  crave  ad- 
mittance to  pass  a  life  of  penitence  for  Le  Gardeur,  and  of 
prayer  for  my  belovjd  Pierre." 

"O,  Am^lie,  think  what  you  do  I "  exclaimed  Hortense 
Beauharnois,  "  Bf;  not  hasty,  take  not  a  step  that  cannot  be 
recalled.     It  wiU  kill  Pierre  1 " 

"  Alas  1  I  have  killed  him  already  1 "  said  she.  "  but  my 


53i  THE  Cff/EN  D  on. 

mino  's  made  up  !  Dear  Hortense,  I  love  Pierre,  but  O,  1 
could  never  look  at  his  face  again  without  shame,  that 
would  burn  like  guilt.  I  give  myself,  henceforth,  to  Christ, 
not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  his,  and  for  my  unhappy 
brother's !  Do  not  hinder  me,  dear  friends,  and  do  not 
follow  me  !  May  you  all  be  happy  in  your  happiness,  and 
pray  for  poor  Am^lie  whom  fate  has  stricken  so  hard,  and 
so  cruelly  in  the  very  moment  of  her  brightest  hopes! 
And  now  let  me  go — alone — and  God  bless  you  all  1  Bid 
my  aunt  to  come  and  see  me,"  added  she,  "  I  cannot  even 
wait  her  return." 

The  girls  stood  weeping  around  her,  and  kissed  and 
embraced  her  over  and  over.  I'hey  would  not  disobey 
her  request  to  be  allowed  to  go  alone  to  the  convent,  but 
as  she  turned  to  depart,  she  was  clasped  round  the  neck 
by  Heloise  de  Lotbinifcre,  exclaiming  that  she  should  not 
go  alone  !  that  the  light  of  the  world  had  gone  out  for  her 
as  well  as  for  Am61ie,  and  she  would  go  with  her  I 

*'  But  why,  Heloise,  would  you  go  with  me  to  the  con- 
vent ? "  asked  Amdlie,  sadly.  She  knew  but  too  well, 
why.  ;:iLir  t_ijv;i  .'  ^'  •••'    r,;    '-.;;; 

"  O,  my  cousin  I  I  too  would  pray  for  Le  Gardeur  I  I 
too — ^but  no  matter !  I  will  go  with  you,  Amdlie  I  If  the 
door  of  the  Ursulines  open  for  you,  it  shall  open  for 
Heloise  de  Lotbinifere  also." 

"I  have  no  right  to  say  nay,  Heloise,  nor  will  I,"  re- 
plied Amdlie,  embracing  her,  "  you  are  of  my  blood  and 
lineage,  and  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  always  burning  in 
the  holy  chapel  to  receive  broken-hearted  penitents  like 
you  and  me  ! " 

"  O,  Heloise  !  do  not  you  also  leave  us  !  Stay  till  to- 
morrow ! "  exclaimed  the  agitated  girls,  amazed  at  this 
new  announcement.    :4  i^t  '•  */.  ^t ?^'  '*m  «*j>*t: '*»^i» 

"  My  mind  is  made  up  ;  it  has  long  been  made  up !  *' 
replied  Heloise,  "  I  only  waited  the  marriage  of  Am^lie, 
before  consummating  my  resolution  to  enter  the  convent. 
I  go  now  to  comfort  Am^lie,  as  no  other  friend  in  the 
world  can  comfort  her.  We  shall  be  more  content  in  the 
midst  of  our  sorrows  to  be  together."     >*  ><x  (jajo^  :i^jq 

It  was  in  vain  to  plead  wi^h  or  to  dissuade  them. 
Am^lie  and  Heloise  were  inexorable,  and  eager  to  be  gone. 
They  again  kissed  their  companions,  with  many  tears 
bidding  them  a  last  farewell,  and  the  two  weeping  girls^ 


THE  VKSVimBi,, 


<53S 


biding  their  heads  under  their  veils,  left  the  bright  man- 
sion mat  was  their  home,  and  proceeded  with  hasty  stepA 
towards  the  convent  of  the  Ursulines. 

■  II  ';'.>       I  ""t.^  .1-  > 


'v<, 


ll'r 


;  I  t 


r  ^r:-v  i  ♦fi' 


'ftr  ,J« 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


:  i- 


><       ■■  ? 


THE      URSULINES. 


■'     .4 


CLOSELY  veiled,  acknowledging  no  one,  looking  at  no 
one,  and  not  themselves  recognized  by  any,  but  clinging 
to  each  other  for  mutual  support,  Amelie  and  Heloise 
traversed  swiftly  the  streets  that  led  to  the  convent  of  the 
Ursulines. 

At  the  doors,  and  in  the  porches  and  galleries  of  the 
old-fashioned  houses,  women  stood  in  groups,  discussing 
eagerly  the  wild  reports  that  were  flying  to  and  fro  through 
the  city,  and  looking  up  and  down  the  streets  for  further 
news  of  the  tragedy  in  the  market-place.  The  male  part 
of  the  population  had  run  off  and  gathered  in  excited 
masses  round  the  mansion  of  the  Golden  Dog,  which  was 
suddenly  shut  up,  and  long  streamers  of  black  crape  were 
hanging  at  the  door. 

Many  were  the  inquisitive  glances  and  eager  whisper- 
ings of  the  goodwives  and  girls,  as  the  two  ladies,  deeply 
veiled  in  black  passed  by  with  drooping  heads  and  hand- 
kerchiefs pressed  against  their  faces,  while  more  than  one 
quick  ear  caught  the  deep  suppressed  sobs  that  broke 
from  their  bosoms.  No  one  ventured  to  address  them 
however,  although  their  appearance  caused  no  littls 
speculation  as  to  who  they  were,  and  whither  they  were 

going.  ^(^^Jfir   'lyMi  •.%•>«."' ■"/     .:\:'r'^vi     r-'    :.  .■.yi:i^,,t-;j;-5-'   ..>  V 

"  They  look  broken-hearted,  poor  things  I "  exclaimed 
good  Madame  Bissot  to  her  next  door  neighbor  in  the 
Rue  des  Jardins,  "  some  friends  of  the  Bourgeois,  or  per- 
haps they  pre  making  for  the  convent. .  They  are  high 
ladies,  I  warrant,  by  their  dress,  and  certainly  sweeter  ^* 
't'cs  I  never  saw  j  did  you,  Madame  Hamel  ? " 


:i'i<,'-N 


^34 


THE  cMiEhr  jyo/f. 


**  Never,"  replfed  Madame  Hamel,  eagerly,  "  I  do  won- 
der who  they  can  be?  It  is  plain  to  see  they  are  bound  for 
the  Ursulines.  I  have  lived  in  the  Rue  des  Jardins,  maid 
and  wife,  thirty  years,  Madame  Bissot,  and  I  have  never 
been  mistaken  in  the  appearance  of  a  girl  taking  her 
broken  heart  to  the  convent  to  lay  it  upon  the  tomb  of 
Mfere  Marie  de  I'lncarnation." 

Madame  Bisssot  was  at  no  lo  s  for  an  explanation  : — 

"  That  is  because  our  sex  is  all  feeling,  Madame 
Hamel  I "  said  she.  '*  I  was  all  feeling,  myself,  when  I  was  a 
girl.  They  say  that  the  tomb  of  Mbre  Marie  h  is  a  rare 
secret  for  consoling  the  troubles  of  the  heart.  But  is  it 
not  queer,  Madam*  Hamel,  that  whenevei  a  girl  loses  her 
lover,  she  always  ./ants  to  fly  to  the  convent  !  yoii  remem- 
ber pretty  Madelaine  des  Meloises,  how  she  ran  barefoot 
to  th'  Ursulines,  leaping  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  when 
news  ca'ne  of  ♦'^'^  death  of  that  young  officer  to  whom  she 
was  betrothed  I  She  has  found  consolation  in  the  cloister, 
for  you  knov  how  she  sings  like  a  nightingale  ever  since, 
as  we  all  can  hear  any  day  at  vespers,  if  we  chose  to  listen 
— as  I  always  do."        !  ?<  oi.iiU  m 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  queer,"  replied  Madame  Hamel,  "but 
my  good  man  always  says  ;  'girl's  feelings,  men's  failings 
and  love's  foolings  keep  life  alive  ! '  Nothing  can  overtake 
a  girl  on  the  run  from  a  disappointment,  or  to  a  wedding  I 
But  a  man  who  is  jilted,  never  delays  helping  himself  to  a 
second  cake,  if  he  is  at  all  hungry  for  matrimony." 
Madame  Hamel  had  been  thrice  married,  and  was  there- 
fore an  authority  on  the  subject. 

"  Indeed,  a  man  has  little  ch  ^nce  to  escape  a  second 
cake  now-a-days !  "  replied  Madame  Bissot,  "  and  it  is  well 
they  can  stand  a  first,  second,  and  even  third  course  of 
matrimony.  This  cruel  war  has  left  men  as  scarce  as  gold 
and  as  valuable  ;  while  the  women  are  plenty  as  hops  and 
as  cheap.  How  fortunate  it  is  that  pe?ce  has  been  made, 
for  it  began  to  be  prophesied  that  the  day  was  coming  in 
New  France  when  seven  women  would  take  hold  of  one 
man,  and  wear  their  own  clothes  too,  for  the  sake  of  being 
called  by  his  name ;  what  a  dreadfr^  prospect !  Think  of 
me  with  the  seventh  part  of  a  man,  Madame  Hamel  1 "  > 
!  "It  is  a  sad  reflection,  Madame  Bissot;  and  me  with 
my  ten  daughters  upon  my  hands !  what  to  do  with  them 
in  any  way  decent  and  respectable  except  make  nuns  of 


THE  URSUUNBS.  63^ 

them,  I  do  not  know !  I  ought  to  have  been  grandmother 
by  this  time !  Here  am  I,  but  seventeen  years  older  than 
my  eldest  daughter  !  I  wish  \  je  of  my  girls  would  run 
away  to  the  convent  too,  before  they  do  worse.  I  see  no 
chance  of  marrying  ihein." 

"  It  is  a  bad  prospect,"  replied  Madame  Bissot,  "as  I 
heard  a  gentleman  of  the  castle — it  was  the  Sieur  Lemolne 
—remark  the  other  day  as  I  was  going  to  church  :  'The 
women,*  he  said,  '  would  have  the  colony  ail  to  iheniselves, 
by-and-by,  if  the  war  continued,  and  we  should  have  to 
fight  the  English  with  an  army  of  Amazons,'  so  he  called 
them,  which  I  take  to  be  some  strange  tribe  of  savages. 
But  look,  Madame  Hamel !  those  two  ladies  are  really 
crossing  over  to  the  convent.  I  knew  I  was  not  mistaken  I 
Who  can  they  be  1 " 

Whether  the  legitimate  curiosity  of  the  good  gossips  of 
the  Rue  des  Jardins  was  ever  gratified  on  this  point — the 
record  sayeth  not ;  but  Amdlie  and  Heloise  almost  faint- 
ing under  their  sorrow,  stood  upon  the  broad  stone  step 
which  formed  the  threshold  that  separated  the  world  they 
were  entering  into,  irom  the  world  they  were  leaving. 

The  high  gables  and  old  belfry  of  the  Monastery,  stood 
bathed  in  sunlight.  The  figure  of  St.  Joseph  that  domi- 
nated over  the  ancient  portal,  held  out  his  arms  and  seem- 
ed to  welcome  the  trembling  fugitives  into  the  house  with 
a  gesture  of  benediction. 

The  sun  darted  a  stream  of  rays  into  the  deep  porch, 
illuminating  its  gloomy  interior.  The  golden  shafts  shot 
chrough  the  open  wicket,  forming  upon  the  stone  floor 
within,  a  square  of  light  emblazoned  with  the  figure  of  a 
cross  projected  from  the  bars  of  the  wicket. 

The  two  ladies  paused  upon  the  stone  steps.  Am^lie 
clasped  her  arm  round  Heloise  whom  she  pressed  to  her 
bosom  and  said  : — "  Think  before  you  knock  at  this  door 
and  cross  the  threshold  for  the  last  time,  Heloise  !  You 
must  not  do  it  for  my  sake,  darling."  !'!!>>  , 

"  No,  Amelie,"  replied  she  sadly.  "  It  is  not  wholly  foi 
your  sake.  Would  I  could  say  it  were  !  Alas  !  If  I  re 
mained  in  the  world,  I  could  even  now  pity  I  e  Gardeur, 
and  follow  hi:u  to  the  world's  end  ;  but  it  must  not — cannot 
l)e.  Do  not  seek  to  dissuade  me,  Amelie,  for  it  is  useless." 
,.  "  Your  mind  is  made  up  then,  to  go  in  with  me,  my 
Heloise  I  "  said  Amelie,  with  a  fond  questioning  look," 


636 


THE  Ch  fES  DtOR. 


"  Fully,  finally  and  for  ever  I  "  replied  she  with  ener^j' 
that  left  no  room  for  doubt.  "  I  long  ago  resolved  to  .i.sk 
the  commui  ity  to  let  me  die  with  them.  My  object,  dc  ir 
lister,  is  like  yours :  to  S|)end  my  life  in  prayers  and  suji- 
plications  for  Le  Gardeur,  and  be  laid,  when  God  calls  me 
to  his  rest  by  the  side  of  our  noble  Aunt  M^re  Madelaine  de 
Repentigny,  whose  lamp  still  burns  in  the  Chapel  of  the 
Saints,  as  if  to  light  you  and  me  to  follow  in  her  footsteps.' 

**  It  is  for  Le  Gardeur's  sake  I  too  go,"  replied  Am^lie, 
"  to  veil  my  fjice  from  the  eyes  of  a  world  I  am  ashamed  to 
.see,  and  to  expiate,  if  I  can,  the  innocent  blood  that  has  been 
shed.  But  the  sun  shines  very  bright  for  those  to  whom 
its  beams  are  still  pleasant !  "  said  she,  looking  round  sadly, 
as  if  it  were  for  the  last  time,  she  bade  adieu  to  the  sun, 
which  she  should  never  again  behold  under  the  free  vault  of 
heaven.  '^».;   -^   -ii  ■  .i;tj  -s-^a-  vrii  t.^n-vo^/ 

Heloise  turned  slowly  to  the  door  of  the  convent.  "Those 
golden  rays  that  shine  through  the  wicket,"  said  she,  "  and 
form  a  cross  upon  the  pavement  within,  as  we  often  observed 
with  school-girl  admiration,  are  the  only  rays  to  gladden 
me  now.  I  care  no  more  for  the  light  of  the  sun.  I  will  live 
henceforth  in  the  blessed  light  of  the  lamp  of  Repentigny, 
My  mind  is  fixed  and  I  will  not  leave  you,  Amelie.  Where 
thou  goest  I  will  go,  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge  ;  thy 
people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God." 

Amelie  kissed  her  cousin  tenderly.  "  So  be  it,  then, 
Heloise.  Your  heart  is  broken  as  well  as  mine  I  We  will 
pray  together  for  Le  Gardeur,  beseeching  God  to  pity  and 
forgive."    *' '^.i;    ;i<^>v:r*    ::;'riuri''»r/:    ..•'•M/*>:-7   rr^qo    :)fn   H^^fijoi;!; 

Amelie  knocked  at  the  door  twice  before  a  sound  of 
light  footsteps  was  heard  within.  A  veiled  nun  appeared 
at  the  little  wicket  and  looked  gravely  for  a  moment  upon 
the  two  postulantes  for  admission,  repeating  the  formula 
usual  on  such  occasions. 

"What  seek  you,  my  sisters?"  W'^rt-^rii-Mif  ^^«.n9  aru 

"  To  come  in  and  find  rest,  good  Mfere  des  Seraphins," 
replied  Amelie,  to  whom  the  portifere  was  well  known. 
"  We  desire  to  leave  the  world  and  live  henceforth  with  the 
community  in  the  service  and  adoration  of  our  blessed 
Lord,  and  to  pray  for  the  sins  of  others  as  well  as  our  own." 

"  It  is  a  pious  desire,  and  no  one  stands  at  the  door  and 
knocks  but  it  is  opened.  Wait,  my  sisters,  I  wi?l  summon 
the  Lady  Superior  to  admit  you."  w.*.^*        v^^^ ... 


THR  URSULINES.  637 

The  nun  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes.  Her  roice 
was  heard  again  as  she  returned  to  the  wicket: — "The 
Lady  Superior  deputes  to  M^re  Esther  the  privilege,  on 
this  occasion,  of  receiving  the  welcome  ix>stulantes  of  the 
house  of  Repentigny. 

The  portibre  retired  from  the  wicket.  The  heavy  door 
iwung  noiselessly  hack,  openinpj  the  way  into  a  small  ante- 
chamber, rtoorcd  with  smooth  flajjs,  and  containing  a  table 
and  a  seat  or  two.  On  either  sicle  of  the  interior  door  of 
the  ante-chamber  was  a  turnstile  or  tourellc,  which  enabled 
the  inmates  within  to  receive  anything  from  the  outside 
world  without  being  themselves  seen.  Amelie  and  Heloise 
passed  through  the  inner  door,  which  opened  as  of  its  own 
accord,  as  they  approached  it  with  trembling  steps  and 
troubled  mien. 

A  tall  nun  of  commanding  figure  but  benign  aspect, 
received  the  two  ladies  with  the  utmost  affection,  as  well 
known  friends,  but  without  the  gush  of  empressement  that 
would  have  marked  their  reception  by  a  Lady  of  French 
origin. 

The  venerable  Mfere  Esther  in  look,  temperament,  as 
well  as  ill  birth,  was  English,  although  in  language  and 
ideas  wholly  French  of  the  best  type.  She  was  gentle  and 
sedate  as  became  a  woman  of  pure,  cold  and  holy  thoughts, 
who  set  no  store  by  the  world  and  never  had  done  so.  She 
had  left  it  at  the  age  of  fifteen  and  lived  the  quiet  life  of 
an  Ursuline  for  the  space  of  thiity-four  years. 

The  news  of  the  commotion  in  the  city  had  been  at 
once  conveyed  to  the  convent,  and  the  Lady  Superior 
doubting  the  discretion  and  calmness  of  Mbre  Gertrude,  to 
communicate  with  the  outer  world  on  this  day  of  excite- 
ment, had  deputed  Mbre  Esther  to  receive  all  visitors. 

Mbre  Esther  wore  a  black  robe  sweeping  the  ground.  It 
was  bound  at  the  waist  by  a  leathern  girdle.  A  black  veil 
fell  on  each  side  of  the  snowy  fillet  that  covered  her  fore- 
head, and  half  covered  the  white  wimple  upon  her  neck 
and  bosom. 

Her  hair  was  invisible,  being  cut  short  and  wholly  hid- 
den in  the  ungainly  fashion  of  the  spouses  of  Christ,  as  if 
the  heavenly  Bridegroom  loves  not  the  beauty  he  creates 
in  woman. 

The  flowing  locks  that  fall  under  the  ruthless  shears  at 
the  consecration  ot  a  nun,  are  never  permitted  to  grow 


638  THE  CHIEN  jyOR. 

long  again.  Why  ?  It  were  hard  to  tell,  unless  to  mortifjf 
the  natural  pleasure  of  a  Aoman  in  the  beauty  of  her  hair, 
in  which  abides  so  much  of  her  strength,  as  the  strength  of 
Samson  abode  in  his. 

Esther  Wheelwright  had  in  her  childhood  undergone  a 
fate  not  uncommon  in  those  hard  days  of  war  upon  the 
English  frontier.  Her  father's  house  had  been  stormed 
and  pillaged,  and  herself  carried  off  a  captive  by  a  war  party 
of  Abenaquis.  She  had  lived  among  the  savages  several 
years,  until  she  was  discovered  and  rescued  by  a  Jesuit 
missionary,  who  brought  her  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis, 
where  her  beauty,  amiability  and  misfortunes  enlisted  so 
strongly  the  sympathies  of  the  Governor,  the  first  Marquis 
de  Vaudreuil,  that  he  adopted  her  as  his  own  child,  and 
sent  her  to  the  Ursulines  to  be  educated  with  his  own 
daughter. 

But  the  memories  of  her  captivity  were  inaffaceable  from 
the  mind  of  the  young  English  girl.  Her  friends  in  New 
England  were,  in  time,  apprised  of  her  safety.  They  sent 
messengers  to  solicit  her  return  home>  but  after  a  haid 
struggle  between  natural  affection  and  her  duty,  as  she 
conceived  it  to  be,  Esther  chose  to  remain  in  New 
France,  where,  grateful  for  her  deliverance  from  the  Abena- 
quis, she  resolved  to  consecrate  her  life  to  Christ  and 
good  works.  In  the  language  of  the  enthusiastic  Jesuit 
who  had  rescued  her  from  the  savages  ;  "  the  fair  Esther 
mounted  the  throne  as  the  bride,  not  of  a  mighty  Ahasuerus 
on  earth,  but  of  a  mightier  King  of  Kings  in  heaven.'* 
She  became  an  Ursuline,  and  in  conjunction  with  the 
Venerable  Superior,  M^re  Migeon  de  la  Nativity,  governed 
the  community  for  a  lifetime  prolonged  beyond  the  ordin- 
ary allotment  of  humanity.  '        i^v!, 

The  beautiful  portrait  of  her  mother,  sent  to  persuade 
the  young  girl  to  return  home,  haunted  her  night  and  day, 
and  would  not  leave  her.  Its  image  only  ceased  to  torment 
her  when  the  facile  hand  of  Mfere  des  Anges,  the  great 
artiste  of  the  convnt,  drew  a  halo  of  glory  round  the  head, 
and  transformed  ti  le  worthy  Ei  glish  mother  into  the  fairest 
Madonna  of  the  monastery — where  it  still  remains  the  pre- 
cious adornment  of  a  shrine  in  the  convent  ch?pel  to  this 
day. 

Mfere  Ste.  Gertrude,  in  whoso  bosom  all  feminine  curi- 
osity was  not  quite  extinct,  would  have  been  content  to 


THE  VRSUUNES. 


639 


remain  at  the  wicket  to  look  out  as  from  .a  safe  rock,  at  the 
tossing  sea  in  the  city,  and  bless  her  immunity  from  the 
dangers  and  troubles  of  the  world.  But  Mbre  Esther  was 
assistant  superior,  and  the  habit  of  obedience,  which  was  a 
second  nature  to  Mfere  Ste.  Gertrude,  caused  her  to  rise  at 
once  and,  with  a  humble  salute,  retire  into  the  interior  of 
the  house  to  help  the  faithful  Marthas,  my  aunts,  as  the 
s<Kurs  converses  were  styled,  in  their  multifarious  labors  in 
the  convent  kitchen.  Mfere  Ste.  Gertrude,  as  a  penance 
for  her  tacit  and  momentary  spirit  of  disobedience,  spent 
the  rest  of  the  day  at  the  self  imposed  task  of  washing 
linen  in  the  laundry,  to  the  edification  of  the  pious  nuns,  to 
whom  she  confessed  her  guilt  and  declared  her  penance. 

Mfere  Esther,  at  the  first  sight  of  the  veil,  thrown  over 
the  heads  of  Amdlie  and  Heloise,  and  the  agitation  of  both, 
knew  at  once  that  the  time  of  these  two  girls,  like  that  of 
many  others,  had  come.  Their  arrival  was  a  repetition  of 
the  old  old  story,  of  which  her  long  experience  had  wit- 
nessed many  instances.  These  two  sorrowing  girls  sought 
refuge  from  the  .  "orms  of  the  world.  They  had  been 
wrecked  and  cast,  half  drowned,  upon  the  rock  of  ages,  as 
M^re  Esther  regarded  it,  where  she  herself  had  found  a 
quiet  and  restful  harbor  for  so  many  years.  '  ■        - 

"  Good  mother ! "  exclaimed  Am^lie,  throwing  her 
arms  round  the  nun,  who  folded  her  tenderly  to  her  bosom, 
although  her  face  remained  calm  and  passionless. 

"We  are  come  at  last !  Heloise  and  I  wish  to  live  and 
die  in  the  monastery !  Good  mother  Esther,  will  you  take 
us  in  ? " 

'*  Welcome  both  ! "  replied  M^re  Esther,  kissing  each 
of  them  on  the  forehead.  "  The  virgins  who  enter  in  with 
the  bridegroom  to  the  marriage  are  those  whose  lamps  are 
burning !  The  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  never  extinguished 
in  the  Chapel  of  Saints,  nor  is  the  door  of  the  monastery 
vver  shut  against  one  of  your  house." 

"  Thanks,  good  mother !  But  we  bring  a  heavy  bur- 
then with  us.  No  one  but  God  can  tell  the  weight  and  the 
pain  of  itl"  said  Amdlie,  sadly.  •• 

'*  I  know,  Am^lie,  I  know  ;  but  what  says  our  blessed 
Lord :  *  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

"  I  seek  not  rest,  good  mother,"  replied  she,  sadly 
"  but  a  place  for  penance,  to  melt  heaven  with  prayers  ioa 


640 


THE  Clf/F.JV  nOR. 


the  innocent  blood  that  has  been  shed  to-day,  (hat  itoc  not 
recorded  for  ever  against  my  brother.     O,  Mfcre  Esther 
you  know  my  brother.  Le  Gardeur  ;  how  generous  and  kind 
he  was  1  You  have  heard  of  the  terrible  occurrence  ir  the 
market  place  ? " 

**  Yes,  I  have  heard,"  said  the  nun.  "  Bad  news  reaches 
us  ever  soonest.  It  fills  me  with  amazement  that  one  so 
noble  as  your  brother  should  have  done  so  terrible  a  deed." 

*'0,  Mferc  Esther  !  "  exclaimed  Amdlie  eagerly,  **  It  was 
not  Le  Gardeur  in  his  senses  who  did  it.  No,  he  nover 
knowingly  struck  the  blow  that  has  killed  me  as  well  as 
the  good  Bourgeoi"' !  Alas  !  he  knew  not  what  he  did.  But 
still  he  has  done  it,  and  my  remaining  time  left  on  earth 
must  be  spent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  beseeching  God  for 
pardon  and  mercy  for  hir;."  \r)v.-^ 

"  The  community  will  join  you  in  your  prayers,  Am^lie ! " 
replied  Mdre. 

Esther  stood  wrapt  in  thought  for  a  few  moments. 
"  Heloise  !  "  said  she,  addressing  the  fair  cousin  of  Amdlie, 
**  I  have  long  expected  you  in  the  monastery.  You  strug- 
gled hard  for  the  world  and  its  delights,  but  God's  hand 
was  stronger  than  your  purposes.  When  he  calls,  be  it  in 
the  darkest  night,  happy  is  she  who  rises  instantly  to  follow 
her  Lord !  " 

"  He  has  indeed  called  me,  O  mother  !  and  I  desire  only 
to  become  a  faithful  servant  of  His  tabernacle  forever.  I 
pray,  good  Mere  Esther,  for  your  intercession  with  the  Mfere 
de  la  Nativitd.  The  venerable  Lady  Superior  used  to  say 
we  were  dowerless  brides,  we  of  the  house  of  Lotbinifere  !  " 

"  But  you  shall  not  be  dowerless,  Heloise  ! "  burst  out 
Am^lie.  "  You  shall  enter  the  convent  with  as  rich  a  dowry 
as  ever  accompanied  an  Ursuline." 

"  No,  Amdlie ;  if  they  will  not  accept  me  for  myself,  I 
will  imitate  m}'^  aunt,  the  admirable  Queteuse,  who,  being, 
like  me,  a  dowerless  postulante,  begged  from  house  to  house 
throughout  the  city  for  the  means  to  open  to  her  the  door 
of  the  monastery." 

"  Heloise,"  replied  Mbre  Esther,  "this  is  idle  fear.  We 
have  waited  for  you,  knowing  that  one  day  you  wou/d 
come,  and  you  will  be  most  welcome,  dowered  or  not ! " 

"  You  are  ever  kind,  Mbre  Esther,  but  how  could  you 
know  I  should  come  to  you  ^ "  asked  Heloise,  with  a  look 
of  inquiry.        .   .,     .  ,..  -   .       ...  ^  -      -     . 


THE  URSULWES. 


641 


it  oe  ndl 
Esther 
ind  kind 
e  ir  the 

\  reaches 
t  one  so 
a  deed." 
"  It  was 
ic  never 
5  well  as 
did.  But 
on  earth 
r  God  for 

^m6\\t  1  '* 

moments. 
)f  Amdlie, 
fou  strug- 
od's  hand 
s,  be  it  in 
\f  to  follow 

lesire  only 
)rever.     I 

the  Mfere 
;ed  to  say 
fbinifere  I " 

burst  out 
[h  a  dowry 

myself,  I 
Iho,  being, 
]e  to  house 
the  door 

ty-t  ■ 

Ifear.    We 
}ou  would 
not ! " 
;ould  you 
[ith  a  look 


"Alast  Heloise,  we  know  more  of  the  ^orld  and  its 
goings  than  is  well  for  us  !  Our  monastery  is  like  the  ear 
of  Dionysius,  not  a  whisper  in  the  city  escapes  it.  O I  dar- 
ling, we  knew  you  had  failed  in  your  one  great  desire  upoa 
earth,  and  that  you  would  seek  consolation  where  it  is  only 
to  be  found,  in  the  arms  of  your  Lord." 

"  It  i  true,  mother  ;  I  had  but  one  desire  upon  earth, 
and  it  is  crushed ;  one  little  bird  that  nestled  awhile  in  my 
bosom,  and  it  has  Hown  away !  The  event  of  to-day  has 
stricken  me  and  Amdlie  alike,  and  we  come  together  to 
wear  out  the  stones  of  your  pavement  praying  for  the  hap- 
less brother  of  Amdlie." 

**  And  the  object  of  Heloise's  faithful  love  I  "  replied  the 
nun,  with  tender  sympathy.  "  O  !  how  could  Le  Garde ur 
de  Repentigny  refuse  a  heart  like  yours,  Heloise,  for 
the  sake  of  that  wild  daughter  of  levity,  Angdlique  des 
Meloises  ? " 

"  Mother,  speak  not  of  it !  He  did  not  refuse  my  heart. 
He  knew  not  I  loved  him,  and  Angdlique  is  more  beautiful 
and  clever  than  I  am  or  ever  was." 

"  You  are  early  learning  the  lesson  of  self-depreciation, 
Heloise,  but  you  have  what  Angdlique  has  not — a  true 
heart  and  guileless  lips.  Ste.  Angble  will  rejoice  at  two 
such  followers.  But  come,  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  ven- 
erable Lady  Superior,  who  is  in  the  garden  conversing  with 
Grand  M^re  St.  Pierre,  and  your  old  friend  and  mistress — 
Mfere  Ste.  Helbne." 

The  news  of  the  tragedy  i*.  the  market-place  had  been 
early  carried  to  the  convent  by  the  ubiquitoi .  Bonhomme 
Michael,  who  was  out  that  day  on  one  of  his  multifarious 
errands  in  the  service  of  the  community. 

The  news  had  passed  quickly  through  the  convent, 
agitating  the  usually  quiet  nuns,  and  causing  the  wildest 
commotion  among  the  classes  of  girls  who  were  assembled 
at  their  mornmg  lessons  in  the  great  school-room.  The 
windows  were  clustered  with  young  comely  heads,  looking 
out  in  every  direction,  while  nuns  in  alarm  streamed  from 
the  long  passages  to  the  lawn,  where  sat  the  venerable 
Superior,  Mbre  Migeon  de  la  Nativitd,  un;!er  a  broad  ash 
tree,  sacred  to  the  convent  by  the  memories  that  clustered 
round  it.  The  Ste.  Therese  of  Canada,  Mbre  Marie  de 
ITncarnation,  fRr  lack  of  a  better  roof,  in  the  first  days  of 
her  mission,  used  to  gather  round  her  under  that  tree,  the 

41 


4fB 


THE  C///EJV  1X6  R, 


wild  Hurons  as  well  as  the  young  children  of  the  colonist^ 
to  give  them  their  first  lessons  in  religion  and  letters.      # 

M^re  Esther  held  up  her  finger  warningly  to  the  nuns 
not  to  speak,  as  she  passed  onward  through  the  long 
conidors,  dim  with  narrow  lights  and  guarded  by  images  of 
saints,  until  she  came  into  an  open  square  flagged  with 
stones.  In  the  walls  of  this  court,  a  door  opened  upon  the 
garden  into  which  a  few  steps  downwards  conducted 
them. 

The  garden  of  the  monastery  was  spacious  and  kept  with 
great  care.  The  walks  meandered  round  beds  of  flowers  and 
under  the  boughs  of  apple  trees  and  by  espaliers  of  ancient 
pears  and  plums.  '      '  .    "  ^  ^'    '  ^ '/:.  * 

The  fruit  had  long  been  gathered  in  and  only  a  few 
yellow  leaves  hung  upon  the  autumnal  trees,  but  the  grass 
was  s*.ill  green  on  the  lawn,  where  stood  the  great  ash-tree 
of  M^'e Marie de  ITncarnation.  The  last  hardy  flowers  of 
autumn  lingered  in  this  sheltered  spot. 

In  these  secluded  alleys  the  quiet  recluses  usually 
walked  and  meditated  in  peace,  for  here  man's  disturbing 
voice  was  never  heard. 

But  to-day  a  cluster  of  agitated  nuns  gathered  round 
the  great  ash-tree  ;  and  here  and  thero  stood  groups  of  black 
and  white  veils ;  some  were  talking,  while  others  knelt 
silently  before  the  guardian  of  the  house,  the  image  of  St. 
Joseph,  which  overlooked  this  spot,  considered  particularly 
sacred  to  prayer  and  meditation. 

The  sight  of  Mbre  Esther,  followed  by  the  well,  known 
figures  of  Amdlie  and  Heloise,  caused  every  head  to  turn 
with  a  look  of  recognition  ;  but  the  nuns  were  too  well 
disciplined  to  express  either  surprise  or  curiosity  in  the 
presence  of  Mfere  Migeon,  however  much  they  felt  of  both. 
They  stood  apart  at  a  sign  from  the  Lady  Superior,leaving 
her  with  a  nun  attendant  on  each  side,  to  receive  M6re 
Esti  er  and  her  two  comp  inions. 


■  )-■  -  ■ 


J      .    tv 


,i'    iW'! 


rj/£  LAMP  OF  HEPBNTIG^Y* 

■  ^  u  -,■■         ,  .     ■  ,,.  «^  jv  ^        ^       '     >'     '■  '  ■.; 

_../,:      :':    ■  •.  r;.:  r   •■.•:i  :.  ./■   ■■■:  - 

:.  .'1'       ■    t        -,     ":  *'.'■■   :■'  '     '  '  ' 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

...    -]   :    i-.   ■    ■    ■  '  >    ■■■"    V-    - 

THE  LAMP  OF  REPENTIONT. 


«« 


MERE  Migeon'de  la  Nativity  was  old  in  years  but  fresh 
in  iooks  and  alert  in  spirit.  Her  features  were  set  in 
that  peculiar  expression  of  drooping  eyelids  and  placid  lips 
which  belongs  to  the  Convent,  but  she  could  look  up  and 
flash  out  on  occasion  with  an  air  of  command  derived  from 
high  birth  and  a  long  exercise  of  authority  as  superior  of 
the  Ursulines,  to  which  office  the  community  had  elected 
her  as  many  trienniums  as  their  rules  permitted. 

Mfere  Migeon  had  been  nearly  half  a  century  a  nun,  and 
felt  as  much  pride  as  humility  in  the  reflection.  She  liked 
power,  which  however  she  exercised  wholly  for  the  benefit 
of  her  subjects  in  the  convent,  and  wore  her  veil  with  as 
much  dignity  as  the  Queen  her  crown.  But  if  not  exempt 
from  some  traces  of  human  infirmity  she  made  amends  by 
devoting  herself  night  and  day  to  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
welfare  of  the  community  who  submitted  to  her  government 
with  extreme  deference  and  unquestioning  obedience.      • 

By  her  side  stood  two  faithful  and  trusty  members  of 
the  Conseil  des  Sages  of  the  monastery,  whom  she  never 
failed  to  consult  in  all  emergencies.  Although  she  always 
followed  at  last  the  wise  suggestions  and  firm  guiding  hand 
of  Mere  Esther  her  coadjutrice  in  the  government. 

One  of  these,  a  very  aged  nun,  was  the  famous  Grande, 
Mfere  Genevieve  de  St.  Pierre,  the  worthy  daughter  of  a 
remarkable  man,  the  Seigneur  de  Bouchervilie,  ennobled  for 
his  defense  of  Three  Rivers  against  an  army  of  Iroquois  in 
1653.  Grande-M^re  St.  Pierre  cpunted  nearly  fourscore 
years  *"  age  at  this  time,  threescore  of  which  she  had 
passed  ni  the  Cloister.  Sh  ^  was  still  strong  in  mind  and 
vigorous  of  body,  as  became  her  father's  daughter.  And 
she  reached  a  still  greater  age  before  she  succumbed  at  last 
to  the  siege  of  nearly  a  century  of  years. 

At  her  feet,  kneeling  with  elbow  reposed  on  tl  e  lap  of 
the  venerable  Grande-M^re  St.  Pierre,  was  a  fair,  delicate 
woman,  Mere   Charlotte  de  Muy  de  Ste.  Helene,  grand- 


M 


rrm  chien  t>oR. 


daughter  of  the  same  stock  of  the  Seigneui  de  Boucherville, 
and  who  if  she  had  not  inherited  the  strong  bodily  attri- 
butes of  her  race,  'lad  succeeded  to  *he  literary  talents  of 
her  grand  sire,  and  shone  among  the  nuns  as  the  annalist 
of  the  Convent  and  of  the  Colony. 

The  histories  of  the  Convent  and  of  the  Colony  are  so 
intermingled  in  those  years  of  war  and  suffering  that  in  the 
records  of  the  ancient  monastery  they  become  almost  as 
one.  **  I  / 

Mbre  Ste.  Hel^ne  had  succeeded  to  many  of  the 
blessings  poured  out  upon  her  race  in  the  "  Adieux  "  of 
Grand-Pfere  Boucher,  whose  last  testament  reminds  one  of 
dying  Jacob's  patriarchal  blessing  of  his  twelve  sons.  She 
was  "voman  of  keen  intellect,  remarkable  power  of 
observauon  and  facile  expression.  Under  her  sncw-white 
wimpii:  beat  as  warm  a  heart  for  her  country  as  evei 
vStirrcu  under  the  robe  of  a  statesman  or  the  gorget  of  a 
s''- :Oier. 

It  is  difficult  in  these  days  of  quiet  and  security  to 
reali:;'c  le  vivid  emotions  excited  in  the  Convent  by  the 
bloody  progress  of  the  war  with  England,  and  by  the 
hand- writing  upon  the  wall  which  to  some  of  tHe  nuns 
already  foreshadowed  the  downfall  of  New  France. 

The  annals  of  the  Cloister,  intended  only  to  record  the 
warfare  of  the  Church  and  the  triumphs  of  Faith,  are 
intermingled,  by  the  pen  of  Mere  Ste.  Hel^ne,  with  vivid 
pictures  of  the  war,  and  filled  with  proofs  of  the  irre- 
pressible sympathies  of  the  nuns,  with  their  fathers, 
brothers  and  countrymen  in  arms  against  the  English  to 
preserve  that  New  France  so  dear  to  them  all. 

With  what  sorrow  that  old  recital,  the  Vteux  Rkit^ 
records  the  Jefeats  and  disasters  of  the  French  arms  !  with 
what  joy  and  exultation  their  victories  !  But  through  good 
report  and  bad,  the  graphic  pen  of  Mfere  Ste.  Helfene  went 
on  to  the  end  of  her  book  and  the  end  of  her  life. 

When  the  seven-years*  war  broke  out,  Mfere  Ste.  Helene 
was  still  the  annalist  of  the  old  monastery.  Her  spirit 
watched  eagerly  from  the  dim  cloi  ster  the  movements  of  the 
armies  of  Montcalm  on  the  fi  antiers.  Her  joyous  pen 
records  in  strains  of  triumph  the  victories  of  Chouagen  and 
of  Carillon.  But  as  the  war  progressed,  she  saw,  like 
others,  with  dismay,  that  the  Colony  was  abandoned  by 
France  to  its  own  feeble  and  ever  diminishing  resources. 


THE  LAMP  Oif  REPEffTtGff^. 


The  circle  of  fire  narrowed  closer  and  closer  round  the 
Capital,  and  when  at  last  Quebec  itself  was  surrounded  by 
the  English,  when  Wolfe  was  pouring  shot  and  shell  for 
sixty  days  without  intermission  upon  the  devoted  city,  sh« 
knew  that  all  was  lost.  The  heart  of  the  patriotic  nun 
broke,  and  in  the  very  hour  when  the  heroic  Montcalm  wat 
lowered  into  his  grave,  which  was  a  cavity  made  by  the 
bursting  of  a  bomb,  in  the  Convent  Chapel,  Mfere  Ste. 
Hei^ne  breathed  her  last  with  the  despairing,  agonizing 
cry :  "  Lepays  est  dbasi"  "  The  Country  is  down  !  *  The 
end  of  her  life  and  of  her  history  and  of  New  France  were 
finished  at  one  fatal  blow.  M^re  Migeon  closed  the  eyes  of 
the  dead  nun  with  a  kiss,  saying,  Requuscat  in  pace  I  M^re 
Ste.  Helene  broke  no  vow  in  loving  her  native  land  I 

But  these  sad  events  lay  as  yet  in  the  womb  of  the 
future.  The  peace  of  Aix-La-Chapelle  promised  for  the 
present  an  era  of  rest  and  recuperation  to  the  wasted  col- 
ony. The  pen  of  M^re  St.  Hfelene  had  just  recorded  the 
emotions  of  joy  and  thankfulness  which  animated  the  com- 
munity upon  the  peace  just  concluded  with  the  E^iglish. 

Mere  Migeon  had  directed  the  two  sorrowing  ladies  to 
be  brought  into  the  garden,  where  she  would  receive  them 
under  the  old  tree  of  M^re  Marie  de  I'lncarnation. 

She  rose  with  affectionate  eagerness  as  they  entered, 
and  embraced  them  one  after  the  other,  kissing  them  on 
the  cheek,  "  her  little  prodigals  returning  to  the  house  of 
their  father  and  mother !  after  feeding  on  the  husks  of 
vanity  in  the  gay  world  which  was  never  made  fr»r  them. 
We  will  kill  the  fatted  calf  in  honor  of  your  return,  Am^lie. 
Will  we  not,  Mfere  Esther  ? "  said  the  Lady  Superior,  ad- 
dressing Amelia  rather  than  Heloise. 

"  Not  for  me,  reverend  Mere  ;  you  shall  kill  no  fatted 
calf,  real  or  symbolical,  for  me ! "  exclaimed  Amdlie.  "  I 
come  only  to  hide  myself  in  your  cloister,  to  submit  my- 
self to  your  most  austere  discipline.  I  have  given  up  all.  O, 
my  M^re  I  I  have  given  up  all.  None  but  God  can  know 
what  I  have  given  up  forever  1 " 

'  "  You  were  to  have  married  the  son  of  the  Bourgeois 
were  you  not,  Am^lie?"  aske  i  the  Superior,  who,  as  the 
aunt  of  Varin,  and  by  family  ties  connected  with  certain 
leading  spirits  of  the  Grand  Company,  had  no  liking  for  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert ;  her  feelings,  too,  had  been  wrought 
upon  by  a  recital  of  the  sermon  preached  in  tlie  market* 
place  that  moraing. 


646  THE  ariBN  OOR, 

*'  0,  speak  not  of  it,  good  Mfere !  I  was  betrothed  to 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  how  am  I  requiting  his  love?  I 
should  have  been  his  wife  but  for  this  dreadful  deed  ol 
my  brother.    The  Convent  is  all  that  is  left  to  me  now/' 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl,"  said  Grande-M^re  St.  Pierre, 
**  and  worthy  of  your  race.  Such  as  you  and  Heloise  are 
the  salt  that  saves  t.  ?  world,  and  brings  blessings  upon 
the  monastery." 

M^re  St.  Hel^ne  had  already  recognized  and  embraced 
the  two  girls.  "  I  have  recorded  many  dear  names  in  our 
annals,"  said  she,  "  but  none  with  the  gladness  I  shall 
have  in  recording  yours.  My  pleasure  is  doubled  because 
it  is  so  unexpected.  You  sow  in  sorrow,  but  you  shall 
reap  in  joy  !  " 

"  I  fear  it  may  never  be,"  replied  Amelia,  "  but  I  may 
at  least  find  quiet  and  time  for  prayer.  I  know  that  ere 
long  I  shall  find  rest.  The  sword  has  passed  through  my 
soul  also  1  " 

"Your  aunt  called  herself  the  humble  handmaid  of 
Mary,  and  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn  all  the  brighter 
trimmed  by  a  daughter  of  her  noble  house,"  remarked 
Mere  Migeon. 

"  By  two  daughters,  good  Mere  1  Heloise  is  equally  a 
daughter  of  our  house,"  replied  Amfelie  with  a  touch  of 
feeling.  ^-^ru  ,. 

"  Was  to  have  been  her  sister,"  whispered  a  young 
novice  in  a  white  veil  to  another  who  had  gradually  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  the  old  ash-tree  to  hear  what  was 
said.  "  Heloise  was  to  have  been  the  bride  of  Le  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny ! " 

"  No  !  it  was  Angdlique  des  Meloises  for  whom  Le 
Gaideur  ran  wild,  they  say.  He  would  have  married  her, 
but  she  jilted  him  ! "  replied  another  eagerly. 

"  No !  you  are  both  wrong,"  whispered  a  third  little 
novice ;  "  it  was  Ang^lique  was  to  have  married  the  In* 
ten  dant." 

"  But  she  refused  Le  Gardeur  all  the  same,  as  I  know 
from  the  best  authority.  My  sister  was  at  the  Intendant's 
hall,  and  overheard  part  of  a  conversation  between  her 
and  the  Intendant,"  interrupted  a  fourth  little  novice  with. 
sparkling  black  eyes  and  flushed  cheek,  "and  they  do  say; 
he  has  a  wife  all  the  time  at  the  Chateau  or  Beaumanoir  !  ** 

"  No,  she  is  not  his  wife !  my  aunt  de  Grandmaison 
fteard  something  from  Madam*;  Varin  I  "replied  another. . 


THE  LAMP  OF  KEPEJ  'T/GNY, 


647 


>the(l  m 
ovc?  I 
deed  ol 
le  now." 
.  Pierre, 
ioise  are 
gs  upon 

nbraced 
:s  in  our 
I  shaU 
because 
ou  shall 

t  I  may 
that  ere 
ough  my 

Imaid  of 

brighter 
smarked 


k 


ually  a 
touch  of 

1  young 
ally  ap- 
rhat  was 
jardeur 

Horn  Le 
led  her, 

rd  little 
the  In* 
■  ir. 
I  know 
ndant's 
■sen  her 
ce  with 
do  say 
noir  !  '* 
maison 
iother. 


"  And  Madame  Varin  knows  that  the  Intendant  ii 
married/'  rejoined  another  novice,  warmly.  Their 
voices  now  minpted  in  swoet  confusion,  jangling  like  silver 
belU  as  they  all  talked  together. 

M^re  St.  Charles,  the  grave  mistress  of  the  .iovice& 
was  never  far  away  from  her  young  charge.  She  .istened 
quietly  to  the  end  of  *he  conversation,  and  then  confronted 
the  little  group  with'  .  reproving  look,  that  caused  them  to 
blush  redder  than  peon  •.  ?s  at  being  caught  indulging  in  such 
worldly  conv  rsalion  as  about  balls  and  marriages  1 

'*  Come  with  me  to  the  chapel,  dear  children,"  said 
Mfere  St.  Charles.  "W^  must  all  repent  our  faults — ^you 
for  permitting  your  thoughts  to  take  delight  in  such  vain 
worldly  things — I  for  not  keeping  W  tter  watch  over  your 
youth  and  inexperience.  Well  that  our  severe  Zelatrice, 
Mere  St.  Lonis,  did  not  overhear  you,  instead  of  your  old 
indulgent  More  St.  Charles.'' 

"We  should  have  cauglit  it  in  earnest  then.  But  is  it 
wrong  t  speak  of  marriage,  good  Mere?  "asked  Marie 
Cureux — a  girl  somewhat  older  and  bolder  than  the  rest. 
•*  My  fathtT  and  mother  were  married,  therefore  it  cannot 
be  wrong  to  marry,  and  the  Church  marries  people,  there- 
fore it  caTmot  be  sinful !  besides,  we  only  whispered  !  " 

"The  sinful  thought,  Marie,  is  worse  than  the  whispered 
word,  and  both  the  word  and  tiie  thing  are  forbidden  to 
replied  the  nun. 

"We  are  sad  sinners  then,"  remarked  Demoiselle 
Bedard,  a  pretty  cousin  of  Zoe  Bcdard,  of  Charlebourg — a 
wild  young  creaUire,  who  when  she  was  at  last  broken  in, 
became  an  exemplary  nun,  and  in  ti  ^le  the  most  bustling 
iante  of  the  Convent  kitchen,  where  she  has  left  a  recipe  for 
making  that  i-xv(\o\x%  potage  du  Convent,  which  the  old  Bar- 
oness de  Longueil  said  was  the  next  thing  to  the  sacra- 
ment, and  used  to  send  to  the  Convent  for  a  bowl  of  it 
every  day.  "     *  ' 

"Well,  well,  my  children,"  conti::jed  Mere  St.  Charles, 
"  never  more  speak,  even  in  whispers,  of  gentlemen,  or  of 
marriages,  except  your  own — when  you  become  the  brides 
of  heaven." 

"  Amen,  Mere  St.  Charles  we  will  try  !  "  said  the  hum 
bled  novices,  who  with  droop  ng  heads  and  hands  clasped 
in  a  penitential  manner,  followed  meekly  their  mistresf  and 
proceeded  to  the  Chapel  to  repent  of  their  grievous  fault 


*■  Vi 


M 


THE  CUIEN  lyOJf. 


Mkre  Esther  whispered  a  f'w  words  in  the  ear  of  tlie  Supe 
rior,  bidding  her  concede  every  request  of  AmtfU'e  and 
Heloise,  and  returned  to  thi:  wicket  to  answer  some  other 
hasty  call  from  the  troubled  city. 

Messengers  despatched  by  Bonhomme  Michael  fol- 
lowed one  another  at  shot  intervals,  bringing  to  the  Con- 
vent exact  details  of  all  tin  occurred  in  the  streets,  '*vdh 
the  welcome  tidings  at  last  that  the  threatened  outbreak 
had  been  averted  by  the  prompt  interposition  of  the  Gov- 
ernor and  troops.  Comparative  quietness  again  reigned 
in  every  quarter  of  the  city. 

Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  had  voluntarily  surrendered 
himself  to  the  guard  and  given  up  his  sword,  being  over- 
whelmed  with  remorse  for  his  act.  He  had  been  placed— 
not  in  irons,  as  he  demanded — but  as  a  prisoner  in  the 
strong  ward  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

*'  I  pray  you,  Reverend  Mfere  Superior,"  said  Amdlie, 
"  permit  us  now  to  go  into  the  Chapel  of  Saints,  to  lay  our 
hearts  as  did  our  kinswoman,  Madelaine  de  Repentigny, 
at  the  feet  of  our  Lady  of  Grand  Pouvoir." 

"  Go  my  children,  and  our  prayers  shall  go  with  you  1" 
replied  the  Superior,  "  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn 
brighter  than  evjr  to-night  to  welcome  you."  ;> 

The  Chapel  of  Saints  was  held  in  reverence  as  the 
most  sacred  place  in  tfur  Monastery.  It  contained  the 
shrines  and  relics  of  tkuiv  saints  and  martyrs.  The  de- 
vout nuns  lavished  up  n  it  their  choicest  works  of  embroid- 
ery, painting  and  gilcliiig  in  the  arts  of  which  they  were 
eminent.  The  old  Sacristaine  was  kneeling  before  ^he 
altar  as  Am^lie  and  Hdloise  entered  the  Chapel.  ,  .  .t/.  .<^: 
-  An  image  of  the  Virgin  occupied  a  niche  in  the  Chapel 
wall,  and  before  It  burned  the  silver  lamp  ni  Repentigny 
which  had  been  hung  there  two  generations  before,  in  mem- 
ory of  the  miraculous  call  of  Madelaine  de  Repentigny, 
and  her  victory  over  the  world. 

The  high-bred  and  beautiful  Madelaine  had  been  the 
delight  and  pride  of  Ville  Marie.  Stricken  with  grief  by 
tlie  death  of  a  young  officer  to  whom  she  was  affianced, 
she  retired  to  Quebec  and  knelt  daily  at  the  feet  of  our 
Lady  of  Pouvoir,  beseeching  her  for  a  sign  if  it  was  her 
will,  that  she  should  become  an  Ursuline. 

The  sign  was  given  and  Madelaine  de  Repentigny  at 
once  exchanged  her  ^ay  robes  for  the  coarse  black  gown 


or  as  they  prayed 
Bourgeois  and  for 
ir. 
e  consciousness 


THE  LAMP  OF  REPKNTtGNY.  ^ 

and  reil,  and  hung  up  this  votive  lainp  before  the  Madonna 
as  a  perpetual  memorial  of  her  miraculous  call. 

Seven  generations  of  men  have  passed  away  since  thea 
The  house  of  RepeQtigny  has  disappeared  from  Uieir  na- 
tive land.  Their  name  and  fame  lie  buried  in  oblivion, 
except  in  that  uttle  chapel  of  the  Saints,  where  their  lamp 
still  Durns  brightly  as  ever  I  The  pious  nuns  o(  St.  Ursule, 
as  the  last  custoaians  of  the  traditions  of  New  France, 
preserve  that  sole  memorial  of  the  glories  and  misfortunes 
of  the  noble  house, — the  Lamp  of  Repentigny. 

Am^lie  and  H^loise  remained  lo  ^  in  the  Chapel  of 
Saints  —  kneeling  upon   the  har 
with  tears  and  sobs  for  the  soul 
God's  pity  and  forgiveness  upon 

To  Am^lie's  woes  was  added 
that  by  this  deed  of  her  brother,  Pk.^  >  ^  ailibert  was  torn 
from  her  forever.  She  pictured  to  herself  his  grief,  his 
love,  his  despair,  perhaps  his  vengeance,  and  to  add  to  all, 
she,  his  betrothed  bride,  had  forsaken  him  and  fled  like 
a  guilty  thing  without  waiting  to  see  whether  he  condemn* 
ed  her  1 

An  hour  ago  Am^Iie  had  been  the  envy  and  delifhl 
of  her  gay  bridesmaids.  Her  heart  had  overflown  like 
a  fountain  of  wine,  intoxicating  all  about  her  with  joy 
at  the  hope  of  the  speedy  coming  of  her  bridegroom. 
Suddenly  the  idols  of  her  life  had  been  shattered  as 
by  a  thunder-bolt,  and  lay  in  fragments  round  her 
feet. 

The  thought  came  upon  her  like  the  rush  of  angry 
wings — she  knew  that  all  was  over  between  her  and  Pierre  I 
The  cloister  and  the  veil  were  all  that  were  left  to  Am^lie 
de  Repentigny. 

^  "H^Ioise !  dearest  sister!  "  exclaimed  she,  **my  con 
science  tells  me  I  have  done  right,  but  my  heart  accuses 
me  of  wrong  to  Pierre ;  of  falseness  to  my  plighted  vows  in 
forsaking  him ;  and»yet  not  for  heaven  itself  would  I  have 
forsaken  Pierre  I  Would  that  I  were  dead  I  O  what  have 
I  done,  Heloise,  to  deserve  such  a  chastisement  as  this 
from  God  ?  •' 

DTA,  Amdlie  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  Heloise,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  her  bosom  wept  long  and  without  res- 
traint, for  none  saw  them  save  God  and  the  old  Sacristaine, 
who  observed  without  seeming  to  observe,  as  she  knelt 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


■^■21    |2J 

■50  "^^     !!■■ 

mm  U22 

2?  KA   ■" 


us 

Hi 


IM 


2.0 


m 

1.4    11.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


■1? 


V 


rv 


dg. 


\ 


^ 


§0^  THE  CHlEff  IT  )M. 

iQently,  counting  the  beads  of  her  rosary  and  repeatfag 
mechanically  the  formula  of  prayers  attached  to  them. 

"  M^re  Ste.  Vierge  1  pray  for  me  1 "  continued  Amdie 
•uddenlv  apostrophizing  the  old  nun,  who  now  regarded  her 
fixedly  from  under  the  white  fillet  that  covered  her  dark 
eyebrows,  "  I  am  unworthy  to  pray  for  myself  I  I  plightej 
my  troth  before  God  and  all  the  Saints  to  marry  Pierre  Phili* , 
bert  I  and  tOKlay  I  forsake  him  in  order  to  atone  by  a  life  i 
of  sacrifice  for  the  innocent  blood  that  lies  upon  the  house 
of  Repentigny  1  M^re  St.  Vierge  I  You  are  wise  in  the 
way  01  salvation.  Tell  me  if  my  sin  against  Pierre  be  not 
greater  than  any  prayer  or  penance  can  expiate  ? " 

Mire  St.  Vierge  looked  at  her  pityingly  and  not  without 
m  trace  of  wonder,  for  the  old  Sacristaine  had  been  so  long 
under  the  veil,  that  the  very  name  of  human  love  sounded 
to  her  like  a  word  of  an  unknown  tongue.  It  called  up  no 
blessed  association  and  woke  no  sympathy  or  only  the  most 
remote,  in  her  cold  saintly  bosom.  ^' 

"  The  sin  would  have  been  greater,  Am^lie,"  said  sfii6 
quietly,  without  changing  a  muscle  of  her  placid  face,  "  had 
you  disobeyed  the  call  of  the  heavenly  voice.  It  seems  to 
you  harsh  and  cruel,  but  the  divine  rods  have  no  efficacy 
unless  they  sting  1  Fast  and  pray,  and  soon  they  will  not 
sting  at  all,  and  you  will  rejoice  in  the  stripes  of  your 
Lord  !  In  the  cloister  you  will  forget  your  earthly  bride^ 
groom,  in  the  joys  of  your  heavenly  one. 

"  Never,  good  Mfere !  I  can  never  forget  Pierre  Phili- 
bert !  I  pledged  my  word  to  him  and  have  broken  it !  I 
must  now  bury  in-  my  heart  out  of  human  sight  the  love 
which  I  cannot  reward  with  my  hand  I  " 

The  Sacristaine  shook  her  head  in  disapproval.  **  Thte 
fashions  of  this  world  pass  away,"  said  she.  **  It  is  hard 
to  purge  the  affections  of  all  earthly  dross  ;  but  a  daughter 
of  Ste.  Angele  must  forsake  father  and  mother,  brothers 
and  sisters,  houses  and  lands,  in  a  word,  all  the  world  for 
Christ's  sake,  and  to  inherit  eternal  life!  For  thirty  years  T 
have  fed  this  sacred  lamp  of  your  house,  and  now  the 
heiress  herself  of  Repentigny  comes  to  take  my  placet 
ZausDeo/" 

O  Mbre  1  y3u  do  not  know  and  cannot  und  trstand  how 

Seat  a  sorrow  has  befallen  Am^lie  I"  exclaimed  H^oise, 
Toically  concealing  the  wound  in  her  own  bosom. 
T  do  know  and  I  do  understand  1 "  replied  the  nun ;  I 


'•   «  V..*  • 


THE  LAMP  OF  teEPRNTlCNY. 


est 


not 


hon 
oise, 


twenty  when  the  Lord  caught  me  in  his  net,  and  drew 
from  th  \  waters  of  vanity  and  sin,  but  I  set  at  defiance 
even  my  Lcrd,  until  he  sent  the  angel  of  death  to  the  house 
of  him  I  loved,  to  subdue  me  by  the  loss  of  my  sole  earthly 
kopel" 

Am^ie  mas  touched  by  the  words  of  the  nun,  which 
seemed  a  reflection  of  her  own  thoughts.  She  raised  her 
hand  and  kissed  it. 

**M^re  Ste.  Viergel"  said  she,  "forgive  me.  Sorrow 
makes  us  selfish,  and  we  think  there  are  no  troubles  but 
our  own  !  Let  me  follow  in  your  footsteps  1  O,  M^re, 
they  say  you  subject  yourself  to  the  severest  discipline  of 
fasting,  prayer  and  vigils ;  teach  me  I  pray  you,  teach  me 
the  hardest  service  in  this  house — I  will  perform  it." 

**  Am^lie  de  Repentigny !  think  before  you  offer  to  fol- 
low in  my  footsteps  1  Can  you  fast  all  day  and  stand  with 
naked  feet  all  night  upon  the  cold  floor  of  the  sanctuary  ? 
Can  you  with  bruised  knees  traverse  the  via  cruets  hour 
after  hour  from  midnight  until  the  bell  rings  for  matins  ? 
Can  you  begin  the  work  of  the  day  at  the  first  hour  and 
resolutely  keep  on  till  the  last,  and  yet  never  feel  that  you 
are  aught  but  an  unprofitable  servant  of  your  Lord  ? " 

The  Sacristaine  might  have  added,  but  refrained  through 
fear  of  seeming  proud  of  her  self*humiliation,  that  she 
wore  the  coarsest  sackcloth  under  her  black  robe,  and  it 
was  even  whispered  among  the  nuns  that  her  shoulders 
were  scarred  with  the  self-inflicted  scourge. 

"  Alas !  Mere,  if  your  venial  sins  call  for  such  chastise- 
ment, what  penance  is  not  due  from  me  for  the  sin  of  my 
brother,  which  I  desire  to  expiate  by  suffering  ?  **  replied 
Am^lie,  sadly. 

The  Sacristaine  let  her  hands  Call  in  her  lap,  and  looked 
at  her  admiringly. 

"  Daughter,"  said  she,   "  rejoice    in   your  tribulation  I 
What  says  blessed  St.  Thomas  ?     *  Temptations  and  trials ' 
are  profitable  although  they  be  troublesome  and  grievous, 
fQl  in  them  we  are  humbled,  purified  and  exalted.' " 

'*  Alas,  Mere  \ "  replied  Am^lie,  "  I  am  humbled  beyond 
all  humiliation,  and  wish  only  to  hide  myself  from  every 
mortal  eve." 

"  Amelie,*'  said  the  nun,  impressively,  "  If  thou  carry 
thy  cross  willingly,  it  will  carry  thee,  and  bring  thee  to  thy 
desired  endl" 


i}i  TttR  CfflBAt  ffOk, 

**  I  know  it,  M^re  t  else  I  had  not  come  to  this  place  I  ** 
"Listen!"  interrupted  the  nun,  raising  her  oale,  thin 
finger  as  the  swelling  strain  of  the  organ  floatea  up  from 
tiie  convent  chapel.    The  soft  voices  of  the  nuns  mingled  ill 
plaintive  harmony  as  they  sang  the  h'  nn  of  the  Virgin : 


*<Pia  Mater  I  Fons  amorist 
Me  sentire  vim  dolorii, 
Fac^  ttt  tecum  lugeam  1 " 


J- 


"  Listen  again  1 "  continued  the  nun,  "  they  who  sow  im 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy,  but  only  in  paradise  I " 

Again  came  the  soft  pleading  notes  of  the  sacred  hymn  1 1 


**  Quando  Corpus  morietur 
Fac  ut  animae  donetur 
Paradisi  gloria  1  Ameni" 


} 

^■Sim~''M- 'mil 


The  harmony  filled  the  ears  of  Am<Slie  and  Heloise, 
like  the  lap  of  the  waves  of  eternity  upon  the  world's  shore. 
It  died  away,  and  they  continued  praying  before  our  Lady 
of  Grand  Pouvoir,  while  the  Sacristaine  kept  on  reciting 
her  appointed  litanies  and  supplications,  half  unmindful  of 
their  presence.  •  ' 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken.  Hasty  steps  traversed 
the  little  chapel.  A  rush  of  garments  caused  Am^lie  and 
Heloise  to  turn  round  and  in  an  instant  they  were  both 
clasped  in  .the  passionate  embrace  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
who  had  arrived  at  the  Convent. 

"  My  dear  children,  my  poor  strick  laughters !  "  ex- 
claimed she,  kissing  them  passionately  and  mingling  her 
tears  with  theirs,  "  what  have  you  done  to  be  dashed  to 
the  earth  by  such  a  stroke  of  divine  wrath  ? " 

O I  aunt !  pardon  us  for  whit  we  have  done  I  '*  exclaim- 
ed Amdlie,  and  for  not  asking  your  consent,  but  alas !  it  is 
God's  will  and  doing  1  I  have  given  up  the  world,  do  not 
blame  me,  aunt  I " 

"  Nor  me,  aunt ! "  added  Heloise,'*  I  have  long  known 
that  the  cloister  was  my  sole  heritage,  and  I  now  claim  it.'* 

*^  Blvne  you,  darling  t  O  Am^lie !  in  the  shame  anc 
agony  of  this  day  I  could  share  the  cloister  with  you  myself 
foi^ver,  but  my  work  is  out  .in  the  wide  world,  and  I  mus' 
pot  withdraw  my  hand  I "  ' 

"Have  you  seen  Le  Girdeur?  O,  auntl  have  you  seer" 


■.■my* 


ih 


r/«  tAMP  OF  REVENriONY. 


CSS 


exy' 


:laim^^' 

It  IS 

o  not 

nowH 
I  it." 

yseli:» 
mus' 


5*^* 


secr"^ 


my  brother?"  asked  Atn^lie,  seizing  her  hand  passion- 
ately. 

"I  have  seen  him,  and  wept  over  him/*  was  the  reply. 
^O  Am^lie!  great  as  is  his  ofifence,  his  crime — ^yes,  I  will 
be  honest  calling  it  such — no  deeper  contrition  could  rend 
his  heart  bad  he  committed  all  the  sins  forbidden  in  tht 
decalogue.  He  demands  a  court  martial  to  condemn  hia 
at  once  to  death,  upon  his  own  self  accusation  and  confei- 
sion  of  the  murder  of  the  good  Bourgeois.''  ' 

"O,  aunt !  and  he  loved  the  Bourgeois  so !    It  seems 
like  a  hideous  dream  of  fright  and  nightmare !  that  Le  ' 
Gardeur  should  assail  the  father  of  Pierre  Philibert  and 
mine  that  was  to  be  I  " 

At  this  thought  the  poor  girl  flung  herself  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  convulsed  and  torn  by  as  bitter  sobs 
as  ever  drew  human  pity. 

"  Le  Gardeur !  Le  Gardeur  I  Good  God  !  what  will  they 
do  with  him,  aunt  ?  Is  he  to  die  ? ''  cried  she,  imploringly, 
as  with  streaming  eyes  she  looked  up  at  her  aunt. 

*'  Listen,  Am61ie !  Compose  yourself  and  you  shall  hear. 
It  was  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires,  when  I 
received  the  tidings.  It  was  long  before  the  messenger 
found  me.  I  rose  instantly  and  hastened  to  the  house  of 
the  Bourgeois,  where  its  good  master  lay  dead  in  his  bloody 
vesture,  I  cannot  describe  the  sad  sight,  Am^lie  !  I  there 
learned  that  the  Governor  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc  had  been 
to  the  house  of  the  Bourgeois  and  had  returned  to  the 
•  Castle." 

"O,  aunt !  did  you  see  him  ?  Did  you  see  the  good  old 
Bourgeois  ?  and  you  know  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Yes,  Am^lie !  I  saw  him,  and  could  have  wished  my 
eye-sight  blasted  forever  after.     Do  not  ask  me  more." 

'*  But  I  must,  aunt !  did  you  see  ?  O,  why  may  I  not  yet 
utter  his  dear  name  ?    Did  you  see  Pierre  ?  " 

**  Yes !  Amfelie !  Pierre  came  unexpectedly  home  while  I 
was  weeping  over  the  dead  corpse  of  his  father.  Poor 
Pierre  I  my  own  sorrows  were  naught  to  his  silent  grief  I 
It  was  more  terrible  than  the  wildest  outburst  of  passion 
I  ever  saw  1 " 

1*' And  what  did  he  say?  O,  aunt,  tell  me  all!  do  not 
spare  me  one  word,  ho  wever  bitter !  Did  he  not  curse  you  ? 
Did  he  no:  curse  me  ?  And  above  all,  Le  Gardeur  ?  O,  he 
cursed  us  all !  he  heaped  a  blasting  malediction  upon  the 
whole  house  of  Repentigny,  did  he  not  ?  " 


6S4 


THE  CHIBN  It  Ok, 


**  Am^ie,  be  composed  1  do  not  look  at  me  so  wildly 
with  these  dear  eyes,  and  I  will  tell  you."  Her  aunt  tried 
to  sooth  her  with  fond  caresses. 

'*  I  will  be  composed  I  I  am  calm  I  Look  now,  aunt,  I 
am  calm !  "  exclaimed  the  grief-stricken  girl,  whose  every 
ttetve  was  quivering  with  wild  excitement.  '<!  ^^^ 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Heloise  made  her  to  sit  down, 
while  each  held  forcibly  a  hand  to  prevent  an  access  of 
hysteria.  M^re  Ste.  Vierge  rose  and  hastily  left  the  chapel 
to  fetch  water. 

"^m^lie !  the  nobleness  of  Pierre  Philibert  is  almost 
beyond  the  range  of  fallible  mortals/'  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 
'*  In  the  sudden  crash  of  all  his  hopes  he  would  not  utter  a 
word  of  invective  against  your  brother.  His  heart  tells  him 
that  Le  Gardeur  has  been  made  the  senseless  instrumea* 
of  others  in  this  crime." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  I  dearest  aunt,  for  your  true  ap 
preciation  of  Pierre  I  I  know  he  deserves  it  all  I  and  when 
the  veil  covers  my  head  forever  from  the  eyes  of  men,  it 
will  be  my  sole  joy  to  reflect  that  Pierre  Philibert  was 
worthy,  more  than  worthy,  of  my  love  1  But  what  said  he 
further  ?    Aunt,  O  tell  me  all." 

*^  He  rose  from  his  knees  beside  the  corpse  of  his 
father,"  continued  the  Lady,  '*and  seeing  me  kneeling 
raised  me  and  seated  me  in  a  chair  beside  him.  He  asked 
me  where  you  were  ?  and  who  was  with  you  to  support  and 
comfort  you  in  this  storm  of  affliction  ?  I  told  him,  and 
he  kissed  me,  exclaiming  *  O  Aunt  1  Mother  I  What 
shall  I  do?'" 

"O  aunt!  did  Pierre  say  that?    Did  he  call  you  aunt 
and  mother?  and  he  did  not  curse  me  at  all?    Poor 
Pierre  1 "    And  she  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears,  which  ' 
nothing  could  control. 

"Yes  Amdiie)  His  heart  is  bleeding  to  death  with  ^ 
this  dreadful  sword-stroke  of  Le  Gardeur's,"  said  the  ' 
Lady  de  Tilly,  after  waiting  till  she  recovered  somewhat.    ' 

"  And  will  he  not  slay  Le  Gardeur  ?    Will  he  not  deem 
it  his  duty  to  kill  my  brother  and  his  ? "  cried  she.  **  He  is  < 
a  soldier  a  id  must !  "  >.« 

"  Listen,  Amdlie  1   There  is  a  divinity  in  Pierre  that  #e - 
only  see  in  the  noblest  of  nen ;  he  will  not  slay  Le  Gardeur.  , 
He  is  his  brother  and  your },  and  will  regard  him  as  such. 
Whatever  he  might  have  done  in  the  first  impulse  of  anger, 

'iJoa  '^  bib  ,'^rt^Mn'>*|'»>l  to  muoii  •^•oft*/ 


THE  LAUP  OF  REPENTlCNy. 


f>i% 


Pierre  will  not  now  seek  the  life  of  Le  Gardeur.  He  knows 
loo  well  whence  this  blow  has  really  come.  He  has  been 
deeply  touched  by  the  remorse  and  self-accusation  of 
Le  Gardeur/' 

'*I  could  kiss  his  feet  I  my  noble  Pierre  I  O  Auntl 
Annt  I  what  have  I  not  lost  I  But  I  was  bethrotbed  f o  him, 
was  I  not?"  She  started  up  with  a  shriek  of  mortal 
agony.  **  They  never  can  recall  that  1 "  she  cried  wildly. 
"  He  was  to  have  been  mine !  He  is  still  mine,  and  for* 
ever  will  be  mine  I  Death  will  reunite  what  in  life  is 
sundered  1    Will  it  not,  Aunt  ? " 

"  Yes,  be  composed,  darling  1  and  I  will  tell  you  more, 
nay  do  not  look  at  me  so,  Amdlie  I "  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
stroked  her  cheek  and  kissed  the  dark  eyes  that  seemea 
flaring  out  of  their  sockets  with  maddening  excitement. 

**  When  I  had  recovered  strength  enough  to  go  to  the 
castle  to  see  the  Count,  Pierre  supported  me  thither.  He 
dared  not  trust  himself  to  see  Le  Gardeur,  who  from  his 
prison  sent  message  after  message  to  him  to  beg  death  at 
his  hand." 

**  I  held  a  brief  conference  with  the  Governor,  La  Come 
St.  Luc  and  a  few  gentlemen,  who  were  hastily  gathered 
together  in  the  council  chamber.  I  pleaded  long,  not  for 
pardon,  not  even  for  Le  Gardeur  could  I  ask  for  pardon, 
Am^lie !"  exclaimed  the  just  and  noble  woman,  **but  for  a 
calm  consideration  of  the  terrible  circumstances  which  had 
surrounded  him  in  the  Palace  of  the  Jntendant,  and  which 
had  led  directly  to  the  catastrophe." 

"  And  what  said  they  ?  O  be  quick.  Aunt !  Is  not 
Le  Gardeur  to  be  tried  by  martial  law  and  condemned  at 
once  to  death  ? " 

"  No,  Amelie  I  The  Count  de  la  Gallissonibre,  with  the 
advice  of  his  wisest  counsellors,  among  whom  is  your  god- 
father and  others,  the  dearest  friends  of  both  families,  have 
resolved  to  send  Le  Gardeur  to  France,  by  the  Fleur  dt 
LySy  which  sails  to-morrow.  They  do  this  in  order  that  the 
king  may  judge  of  his  offence,  as  also  to  prevent  the 
conflict  that  may  arise  between  the  contending  factions  in 
the  colony,  should  they  'ry  him  here.  This  resolution  may 
be  wise  or  not.  I  do  m  t  judge,  but  such  is  the  determina- 
tion  of  the  Governor  and  Council,  to  which  all  must 
submit." 
.    Amdie  held  her  head  between  her  palms  for  some 


656 


THB  CHJEN  IT  OR. 


momentfl.  She  was  violently  agitated,  but  she  tried  !• 
consider  as  best  she  might,  the  decision  with  regard  to  her 
brother.  ^> 

"  It  is  merciful  in  them  1 "  she  said,  "  and  it  is  fust  t 
The  king  will  judge  what  is  right  in  the  sight  of  Goa  and 
man !  Le  Gardeur  was  but  a  blind  instrument  of  others  la 
this  murder,  as  blind  almost  as  the  sword  he  held  iu 
his  hand.  But  shall  I  not  see  him.  Aunt,  before  be 
is  sent  away?" 

**  Alas,  no  i  The  Governor,  while  kind,  is  inexorable  on 
one  point.  He  will  permit  no  one  after  this  to  see  Le  Gar- 
deur, to  express  either  blame  or  approval  of  his  deed,  or  to 
report  his  words.  He  v/ill  forbid  you  and  me  and  his 
nearest  friends  from  holding  any  communication  with  him 
before  he  leaves  the  colony.  The  Count  has  remitted  his 
case  to  the  king,  and  resolved  that  it  shall  be  accompanied 
by  no  self-accusations  which  Le  Gardeur  may  utter  in  his 
frantic  grief.  The  Count  does  this  in  justice  as  well 
as  mercy,  Am^lie  1 " 

"Then  I  shall  never  see  my  brother  more  in  this 
world !  Never  I "  exclaimed  Am^lie,  supporting  herself  on 
the  arm  of  Heloise.  His  fate  is  decided  as  well  as  mine, 
and  yours  too,  O  Heloise ! " 

"  It  may  not  be  so  hard  with  him  as  with  us,  Amdlie  I '' 
replied  Heloise,  whose  bosom  was  agitated  with  fresh 
emotions  at  every  allusion  to  Le  Gardeur.  "The  king 
may  pardon  him,  Am^lie  I  "  Heloise  in  her  soul  hoped  so, 
and  in  her  heart  prayed  so. 

"  Alas  1  If  we  could  say  God  pardoned  him  I  "  replied 
Am^lie,  her  thoughts  running  suddenly  in  a  counter- 
current  "  But  my  life  must  be  spent  in  imploring  God's 
grace  and  forgiveness  all  the  same,  whether  man  forgive 
him  or  no." 

"  Say  not  my  life,  but  our  lives,  Am^lie !  We  have 
crossed  the  threshold  of  this  house  together  for  the 
last  time !  We  go  no  more  out  to  look  upon  a  world 
fair  and  beautiful  to  see,  but  so  full  of  disappointment  and 
wretchedness  to  have  experience  of ! " 

"  My  daughters  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  "ano- 
ther time  we  will  speak  of  this  1  Harken,  Am^lie  !  I  did 
not  tell  you  that  Pierre  PI-  ilibert  came  with  me  to  the  gate 
of  the  Convent  to  see  you .  He  would  have  entered,  but 
the  Lady  Superior  refused  inexorably  to  admit  him  even  to 
the  parlor.  " 


THE  LAMP  OF  KEPRtftrCNY,  ^j^ 

• 

"  Pierre  came  to  the  Convent  ?  to  the  Convent  ?"  re- 
peated Am^ie  with  fond  iteration,  "  and  they  would  not 
admit  him  1  Why  would  they  not  admit  him  ?  But  I  should 
have  died  of  shame  to  see  him !  They  were  kind  in  their 
cruelty.  Poor  Pierre  I  he  thinks  me  still  worthy  of  some 
regard  1, "    She  commenced  weeping  afresh. 

''He  would  fain  have  seen  you,  darling!''  said  her 
Aunt  "Your  flight  to  the  Convent,  he  knows  what  it 
means,  overwhelms  him  with  a  new  calamity  I  " 

"  And  yet  it  cannot  be  otherwise  I  I  dar:  not  place  my 
hand  in  his  now,  for  it  would  redden  it  I  But  it  is  sweet 
amid  my  affliction  to  know  that  Pierre  has  not  forgotten 
me,  that  he  does  not  hate  me,  nay,  that  he  still  loves  me  ! 
although  I  abandon  the  world  and  him  who  to  me  was  the 
light  of  it  I    Why  would  they  not  admit  him  ? " 

"Mbre  Migeon  is  as  hard  as  she  is  just,  Am^ic! 
I  think  too  she  has  no  love  for  the  Philiberts.  Her  nephew 
Varin  has  all  the  influence  of  a  spoilt  son  over  the  Lady 
Superior." 

Am^lie  scarcely  regarded  the  last  remark  of  her  aunt, 
but  repeated  the  words  "  hard  and  just  I  Yes,  it  is  true, 
and  hardness  and  justice  are  what  I  crave  in  my  misery  1 
The  flintiest  couch  shall  be  to  me  a  bed  of  down !  the 
scantiest  fare,  a  royal  feast !  the  hardest  penance  a  life  of 
pleasure!  Mfere  Migeon  cannot  be  more  hard  nor  more 
just  to  me  than  I  would  be  to  myself ! " 

"  My  poor  Am^lie !  My  poor  Heloise  ! "  repeated  the 
Lady,  stroking  their  hair  and  kissing  them  both  alternately, 
"  be  it  as  God  wills !  When  it  is  dark  every  prospect  lies 
hid  in  the  darkness,  but  it  is  there  r<Jl  the  same,  though  we 
see  it  not!  but  when  the  day  returns  cv^trything  is  revealed ! 
We  see  nought  before  us  now,  but  the  image  of  our  Lady 
of  Grand  Pouvoir  illumined  by  the  lamp  of  Repentigny, 
but  the  sun  of  righteorsness  will  yet  arise  with  healing  on 
his  wings  for  us  all ! " 

''But  O,  my  children!  let  nothing  be  done  hastily, 
rashly,  or  unbecoming  the  daughters  of  our  honorabw 
house." 


■:\ur^A 


6st 


THE  CmSN  DtOlt. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

"LOVILY  in  death  the   beauteous   ruin   LAf. 

The  chant  of  vespers  had  long  ceased.  The  angelut 
had  rung  its  last  summons  to  invoke  a  blessing  upon  life 
and  death  at  the  close  of  the  day.  The  quiet  nuns  filed  oil 
from  their  frugal  meal  in  the  long  refectory  and  betook 
themselves  to  the  Community  or  to  their  peaceful  cells. 
The  troop  of  children  in  their  charge  had  been  sent 
with  prayer  to  their  little  couches  in  the  dormitory,  sacred 
to  sleep  and  happy  dreams. 

Candles  flickered  through  the  long  passages  as  veiled 
figures  slowly  and  noiselessly  passed  towards  the  chapel  to 
their  private  devotions.  Scarcely  a  footfall  reached  the 
ear,  nor  sound  of  any  kind,  except  the  sweet  voice  of  Mbre 
Madelaine  de  St.  Borgia.  Like  the  flow  of  a  full  stream  in. 
the  still  moonlight,  she  sang  her  canticle  of  praise  to  the 
guardian  of  the  house,  before  she  retired  to  rest—  ,^, 

**  Ave,  Joseph !    Fili  David  Juste  I  "<^  K^, in  r:t  i ^  KJ n  )\:tii 
Vir  Mariae  de  qua  natus  est  Jesus  1 "  !VM  '.  ; 

Lady  de  Tilly  sat  listening  as  she  held  the  hands  of 
two   nieces,   thinking  how  merciless  was  Fate,  and  half, 
rebelling  in  her  mind  against  the  working  of  Providence. 
The  sweet  song  of  Mbre  St.  Borgia  fell  like  soft  rain  upoa^ 
her    hard  thoughts,  and    instilled  a  spirit  of  resignation  ^ 
amid  the   darkness,   as   she    repeated    the  words  *^Avt 
yosepA/"     She  fought  bitterly  in  her  soul  against  giving, 
up  her  two  lambs^  as  she  called  them,  to  the  cold  scant  I 
life  of  the  cloister,  while  her  judgment  saw  but  too  plainly, '' 
that  nought  else  seemed  left  to  their  crushed  and  broken 
spirits.      But  she  neither  suggested  their  withdrawal  from 
the  convent,  nor  encouraged  them  to  remain. 

In  her  secret  thought,  the  Lady  de  Tilly  regarded  the 
cloister  as  a  blessed  refuge  for  the  broken-hearted,  a  rest 
for  the  weary  and  overladen  with  earthly  troubles,  a  living 
grave,  \\ii»^h  such  may  covet  and  not  sin  ;  but  the  young, 
the  joyous,  the  beautiful,  and  all  capable  of  making  the 


** LOVELY  IN  DMA  /W."  ETC 


6S9 


world  fairer  and  better,  she  would  inexorably  shut  jut  I 
Christ  calls  not  these  from  the  earthly  paradise,  but  the 
afflicted,  the  disappointed,  the  despairing :  they  who  have 
fallen  helplessly  down  in  the  journey  of  life,  and  art 
of  no  further  use  in  this  world,  these  he  calls  by  their 
names  and  comforts  them.  But  for  those  rare  souls  who 
are  too  cold  for  aught  but  spiritual  joys,  He  reserves 
a  peculiar  though  not  his  choicest  benediction.  ; 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pondered  these  thoughts  over  and 
over  in  the  fulness  of  pity  for  her  children.  She  would  not 
leave  the  convent  at  the  closing  of  the  gates  for  the  night, 
but  remained  the  honored  guest  of  Mbre  Migeon,  who 
ordered  a  chamber  to  be  prepared  for  her  in  a  style  thai 
was  luxurious  compared  with  the  scantily  furnished  rooms 
allotted  to  the  nuns. 

Am<$lie  prevailed,  after  much  entreaty,  upon  Mkre 
Esther,  to  intercede  with  the  Superior  for  permission 
to  pass  the  night  with  Heloise  in  the  cell  that  had  once 
been  occupied  by  her  pious  kinswoman,  M^re  Madelaine. 
-  "It  is  a  great  thing  to  ask  I "  replied  Mere  Esther 
as  she  returned  with  the  desired  boon,  "  and  a  greater  still 
to  obtain  it  I  But  Mere  Migeon  is  in  a  benevolent  mood 
to-night,  for  the  sake  of  no  one  else  would  she  have 
granted  a  dispensation  of  the  rules  of  the  house." 

^  In  truth  the  venerable  Superior  was  overjoyed  by  the 
arrival  of  so  distinguished  a  postulante  as  Am^lie  de  Re- 
pentigny.  She  regarded  it  as  a  special  answer  to  her 
fervent  and  frequent  prayers  for  the  restoration  to  the 
community  of  the  prosperity  they  had  enjoyed  before  the 
war.  The  Lady  Superior  refused  Am^lie  nothing. 
"■  The  two  postulantes  were  conducted  by  Mbre  Esther 
through  a  long  passage,  on  one  side  of  which  opened  the 
doors  of  the  chambers  of  the  nuns,  each  cell  with  its  soli- 
tary tenant,  asleep  after  repeating  her  pious  tnemorare^  or 
awake  and  reciting  it  over  again. 

"'  M^re  Esther  stopped  before  a  closed  door,  over  which 
was  painted  in  black  letters,  the  sacred  text,  "  Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest." 

**  This  was  the  cell  of  the  faithful  handmaid  of  Mary, 
your  beloved  aunt,  Mfere  Madelaine,"  remarkec  M^r« 
Esther,  as  she  opened  the  door. 


Mo 


TBB  CHJMif  aOit. 


"  I  know  it,"  replied  Am^Ue.  *'  It  is  a  narrow  ]Mfe% 
but  it  will  hold  my  imal  and  shattered  bark.  The  spM 
of  my  kinswoman  lingers  here,  and  it  will  help  me  to  team 
the  hard  lesson  of  resignation/' 

"  Our  Lord,  who  wept  at  Bethany,  will  weep  with  you, 
my  children,"  replied  M^e  Esther,  kissing  the  young 
postulantes  .is  she  bade  them  good-night  and  left  then, 
with  tears  of  true  womanly  sympathy  upon  her  aged  cheek. 

"  I  feel  a  cold  breath,  as  it  were  a  greeting  from  the 
spirit  of  our  kinswoman,"  said  Am^lie,  as*  she  entered  the 
little  room,  which  revealed  in  the  light  of  the  lamp  she 
carried,  a  couch  of  spotless  drapery,  but  hard  as  the  bed 
of  an  anchorite,  a  chair  or  two  of  wood,  a  plain  table,  upon 
which  lay  a  few  books  of  devotion,  and  in  a  little  recess, 
a  picture  of  the  weeping  Madonna,  wrought  in  silk— a 
masterpiece  of  needlework  from  the  hands  of  M^re 
Madelaine. 

''  The  embroidering  of  that  saved  her  life,"  whispered 
Am^Ue,  holding  up  the  lamp  as  she  knelt  reverently  before 
it.  "  For  in  that  she  wrought  the  grief  of  her  soul  for  the 
k>ss  of  Julian  Lemoine*  It  is  a  memorial  of  her  agony  for 
his  death  upon  the  field  of  battle.  But  she  is  now  happy 
with  Julian,  think  you  not  so,  H^loise  ? " 

'*  I  pray  so  I  Nay,  I  believe  it,  Am^lie  I  But  Aunt 
Madelaine^  fate  was  enviable  compared  with  ours.  To  lose 
the  dead  is  hard,  but  it  may  be  borne ;  but  to  lose  the 
living  and  live  on  and  remember  daily  our  loss— who  can 
endure  that,  Amdiie  ? " 

The  lamp  shed  a  melancholy  radiance  over  the  sugges- 
tive picture.  The  two  girls  knelt  together  and  wept,  and 
prayed  for  hours  uncounted  by  themselves.  Only  God 
counted  them,  and  put  all  their  tears  in  His  bottle,  as  the 
Hebrew  prophet  quaintly  describes  the  tender  care  of  the 
Lord  for  his  children  of  affliction. 

Lady  de  Tillv  held  that  night  a  long  and  serious  conr 
ference  with  Mere  Migeon  and  Mbre  Esther,  upon  tho 
event  which  had  driven  her  nieces  to  the  Cloister,  pronh 
isirig  that  if,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  they  persisted  in  their 
resolution;  she  would  consent  to  their  assumption  of  the 
white  veil,  and  upon  the  completion  of  their  noviciate^ 
when  they  took  the  final  vows,  she  would  give  them  up 
with  such  a  dower  as  would  m  ike  all  former  gifts  of  tho 
house  ot  Repentigny  and  Tilly  poor  in  the  comparisoiii 


"^ LOVELY  iN  DMATtrr  ETC, 


Otkr 

the 
om- 
leir 
the 

ate^ 
up 
the 

'4 


j^  lAre  Migeoo  was  especially  overjoyed  at  this  prtte* 
pict  of  relieving  the  means  of  her  house,  which  had  been 
fo  terribly  straitened  of  late  years.  The  losses  occasioned 
by  the  war  hid  been  a  never  ending  source  of  anxiety  to 
her  and  M^  Esther,  who,  however,  Icept  their  trooblesi 
as  far  as  possible,  to  themselves,  in  order  that  the  caret 
of  the  world  might  not  encroach  too  far  upon  the  minds  o* 
the  Community.  Hence,  they  were  more  than  ordinaril) 
glad  at  this  double  vocation  in  the  house  of  Repenttcny. 
The  prospect  of  its  great  wealth  falling  to  pious  uses,  Uiey 
regarded  as  a  special  mark  of  Divine  Providence  and  care 
for  the  house  of  Ste.  Ursule. 

"O,  M^re  Esther  I  Mbre  Esther  I"  exclaimed  the 
lady  Superior.  **  I  feel  too  great  a  satisfaction  in  view  of 
the  rich  dower  of  these  two  girls.  I  need  much  self-exam- 
ination to  weed  out  worldly  thoughts.  Alas !  Alas  1  I 
would  rather  be  the  humblest  aunt  in  our  kitchen,  than 
the  Lady  Superior  of  the  Ursulines.  Blessed  old  M^re 
Marie  used  to  say  *  a  good  turn  in  the  kitchen  was  as  good 
as  a  prayer  in  the  chapel.' " 

M^re  Esther  reflected  a  moment,  and  said,  '*  We  have 
long  found  it  easier  to  pray  for  souls  than  to  relieve  bodies. 
I  tlMnk  good  St  Joseph  for  this  prospective  blessing  upon 
our  monastery." 

^^  During  the  long  and  wasting  war.  Mire  Migeoa  had 
*ieen  her  poor  nuns  reduced  to  grievous  straits,  which 
they  bore  cheerfully,  however,  as  their  share  of  the  com- 
mon suffering  of  their  country.  The  cassette  of  St.  Joseph, 
wherein  were  deposited  the  oboli  for  the  poor,  had  lone 
been  emptied.  The  image  of  St.  Joseph  au  bU^  that  stooa 
at  the  great  stair,  and  kept  watch  over  the  store  room  of 
corn  and  bread,  had  often  guarded  an  empty  chambef. 
St  Joseph  au  labeur^  overlooking  the  great  kitchen  of  the 
convent^  had  often  been  deaf  to  the  prayers  of  ''my 
aunts,"  who  prepared  the  food  of  the  community.  The 
meagre  tables  of  the  refectory  had  not  seldom  been  the 
despair  of  the  old  depositaire,  Mbre  St  Louis,  who  de* 
voutly  said  her  longest  graces  over  her  scantiest  meals. 
ii^'i;]"^  thank  St  Joseph  for  what  he  gives,  and  for  what 
he<  withholds,  yea,  for  what  he  takes  away  1 "  observed 
^M^re  St  Louis  to  her  special  friend  and  gossip,  Mb'e  St. 
Antoine,  as  they  retired  from  the  chapel.  "  Our  years  of 
famine  are  nearly  over«    The  day  of  the  consecration  of 


65fl 


THE  CfflBViyOM. 


Am^ie  de  Repentigny  will  be  to  us  the  marriage  at  Cana. 
Our  water  will  be  turned  into  wine.  I  shall  no  longer 
need  to  save  the  crumbs,  except  for  the  poor  at  our  gate.** 

The  advent  of  Am^lie  de  Repentigny  was  a  circum- 
stance  of  absorbing  interest  to  the  nuns,  who  regarded  il 
as  a  reward  for  their  long  devotions  and  prayers  for  tho 
restoration  of  their  house  to  its  old  prosperity.  We  usual.y 
count  Providence  upon  our  side,  when  we  have  consciousl) 
done  ought  to  merit  the  good  fortune  that  befalls  us." 

And  now  days  came  and  went,  went  and  came  as  Time 
the  inexorable  ever  does,  regardless  of  human  joys  or  sor- 
rows. Am^lie,  weary  of  the  world,  was  only  desirous  of 
passing  away  from  it,  to  that  sphere  where  time  is  not,  and 
where  our  affections  and  thoughts  alone  measure  the  periods 
of  eternity.  For  time  there  is  but  the  shadow  that  accom- 
panies the  joys  of  angels,  or  the  woes  of  sinners,  not  the 
reality.    It  is  time  here,  eternity  there  I  1  bin^/ 

The  two  postulantes  seemed  impressed  with  the  spirit 
that  to  their  fancies,  lingered  in  the  cell  of  their  kins- 
woman, Mfere  Madelaine.  They  bent  their  gentle  necks 
to  the  heaviest  yoke  of  spiritual  service,  which  their  Super- 
ior would  consent  to  lay  upon  them. 

Amdlie's  inflexible  will  made  her  merciless  towards 
herself.  She  took  pleasure  in  the  hardest  of  self-imposed 
penances,  as  if  the  racking  of  her  soul  by  incessant  prayers, 
and  wasting  of  her  body  by  vigils  and  cruel  fastings,  were 
a  vicarious  punishment,  borne  for  the  sake  of  her  hapless 
brother. 

She  could  not  forget  Pierre,  nor  did  she  ever  try  to 
forget  him.  It  was  observed  by  the  younger  nuns,  that 
when  by  chance  or  design,  they  mentioned  his  name,  she 
looked  up  and  her  lips  moved  in  silent  prayer ;  but  she 
spoke  not  of  him,  save  to  her  aunt  and  to  Heloise.  These 
two  faithful  friends  alone  knew  the  inexpressible  anguish 
with  which  she  had  heard  of  Pierre's  intended  departure 
for  France. 

I'he  shock  caused  by  the  homicide  of  the  Bourgeois, 
and  the  consequent  annihilalion  of  all  the  hopes  of  her 
life  in  a  happy  union  with  Pierre  Philibert,  was  too  much 
for  even  her  naturally  sound  and  elastic  constitution.  Her 
health  gave  way  irrecoverably.  Her  face  grew  thin  and  wan 
without  losing  any  of  its  spiritual  beauty,  as  her  soul  look- 
ed through  its  ever  more  transparent  covering,  which  daily 


' LOVELY  IN  DBATH,"  ETC. 


fi(3 


her 
luch 
Her 
[wan 
look- 
laily 


Eew  more  and  more  stherialized  as  she  faded  away.  A 
ictic  flush,  like  a  spot  of  fire,  came  and  went  for  a  time, 
and  at  last  settled  permanently  upon  her  cheek.  Her 
eyes,  those  glorious  orbs,  filled  with  unquenchable  love, 
grew  supernaturally  large  and  brilliant  with  the  flames 
that  fed  upon  her  vital  forces.  Am^lie  sickened  and  sank 
rapidly.  The  vulture  of  quick  consumption  had  fastened 
upoki  her  young  life. 

4;  M^re  Esther  and  Mbre  Migeon  shook  their  heads,  for 
Uiey  were  used  to  broken  hearts,  and  knew  the  infallible 
gigns  which  denote  an  early  death  in  the  young  and  beau- 
tiuil.  Prayers  and  masses  were  offered  for  the  recovery 
of  Am^lie,  but  all  in  vain.  God  wanted  her.  He  alone 
knew  how  to  heal  that  broken  heart.  It  was  seen  that  she 
had  not  long  to  live.     It  was  known  she  wished  to  die. 

Pierre  heard  the  tidings  with  overwhelming  grief.  He 
had  been  permitted  but  once  to  see  her  for  a  few  brief  mo< 
ments,  which  dwelt  upon  his  mind  for  ever.  He  deferred 
his  departure  tc  Europe  in  consequence  of  her  illness,  and 
knocked  daily  n:  the  door  of  the  convent  to  ask  after  her 
and  leave  some  kind  message  orliower,  which  was  faithfully 
carried  to  her  by  the  friendly  nuns  who  received  him  at  the 
wicket.  A  feeling  of  pity  and  sympathy  for  these  two 
affianced  and  unfortunate  lovers  stole  into  the  hearts  of  the 
coldest  nuns,  while  the  novices  and  the  romantic  convent 

firls  were  absolutely  wild  over  the  melancholy   fate  of 
'ierre  and  Am^lie.  .1  k.^ii  i*^*^;*.! 

^Mji'.He  long  solicited  in  vain  for  another  interview  with 
Am^lie,  but  until  it  was  seen  that  she  was  approaching  the 
end,  it  was  not  granted  him.  Mfere  Esther  interceded 
strongly  with  the  Lady  Superior,  who  was  jealous  of  the 
influence  of  Pierre  with  her  young  novice.  At  length 
Am^lie's  prayers  overcame  her  scruples.  He  was  told  one 
day  that  Am^lie  was  dying,  and  wished  to  see  him  for  the 
lait  time  in  this  world. 

Am^lie  was  carried  in  a  choir  to  the  bars  to  receive  her 
sorrowing  lover.  Her  pale  face  retained  its  statuesque 
beauty  of  outline,  but  so  thin  and  wasted  ! 

•*  Pierre  will  not  know  me,"  whispered  she  to  Heloise, 
'*  but  I  shall  smile  at  the  joy  of  meeting  him,  and  then  he 
will  recognize  me."  i.vi,^;tft£, 

Her  flowing  veil  was  thrown  back  from  her  face.  She 
•poke  little,  but  her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  with  devouring 


664 


THE  cmsAriyop. 


eagerness  upon  the  door  by  which  she  knew  Pierfe  mtooM 
come  in.  Her  aunt  supported  her  head  upon  her  shouldefj 
while  Heloise  knelt  at  her  knee  and  fanned  her  with  sis- 
terly tenderness,  whispering  words  of  sisterly  sympathy  in 
her  ear. 

Pierre  flew  to  the  convent  at  the  hour  appointed.  He 
was  at  once  admitted,  with  a  caution  from  M^re  Esther  to 
be  calm  and  not  agitate  the  dying  girl.  The  moment  he 
entered  the  great  parlor,  Am^Iie  sprang  from  her  seat  with 
a  sudden  cry  of  recognition,  extending  her  poor  thin  hands 
through  the  bars  towards  him.  Pierre  seized  them,  kissing 
them  passionately,  but  broke  down  utterly  at  the  sight  ol 
her  wasted  face  and  the  seal  of  death  set  thereon. 

"  Am^lie  !  my  darling  Amdlie  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  I  have 
prayed  so  long  to  see  you,  and  they  would  not  let  me  in." 

"  It  was  partly  my  fault,  Pierre,"  said  she  fondly.  "  I 
feared  to  let  you  see  me.  I  feared  to  learn  that  you  hate, 
as  you  have  cause  to  do,  the  whole  house  of  Repentigny  I 
And  yet  you  do  not  curse  me,  dear  Pierre  ?  "      - 

"  My  poor  angel,  you  break  my  heart  I  I  curse  the  house 
of  Repentigny  ?  I  hate  you  ?  Am^lie,  you  know  me  bet- 
ter." 

"  But  your  good  father,  the  noble  and  just  Bourgeois! 
O I  Pierre,  what  have  we  not  done  to  you  and  yours ! "   ^" 

She  fell  back  upon  her  pillow,  covering  her  eyes  with 
her  semi-transparent  hands,  bursting,  as  she  did  so,  into  a 
flood  of  passionate  tears  and  passing  into  a  dead  faint. 

Pierre  was  wild  with  anguish.  He  pressed  against  the 
bars.  "  For  God's  sake,  let  me  in  1 "  exclaimed  he,  "  she 
is  dying!"  -n^'-imm^^ 

'  The  two  quiet  nuns  wh3  were  in  attendance  shook  their 
heads  at  Pierre's  appeal  to  open  the  door.  They  were  too 
well  disciplined  in  the  iron  rule  of  the  house  to  open  it 
without  an  express  order  from  the  Lady  Superior,  or  from 
M^re  Esther.  Their  bosoms,  abounding  in  spiritual  warmth, 
responded  coldly  to  the  contagion  of  mere  human  passion. 
Their  ears,  unused  to  the  voice  of  man's  love,  tingled  at  the 
words  of  Pierre.  Fortunately,  Mfere  Esther,  ever  on  the 
watch,  came  into  the  parlor,  and,  seeing  at  a  glance  the 
need  of  the  hour,  opened  the  iron  door  and  bade  Pierre 
come  in.  He  rushed  forward  and  threw  himself  at  the  feet 
of  Am^lie,  calling  her  by  the  most  tender  appellatives,  and 
seeking  to  recall  her  to  a  consciousness  of  his  presence.   : 


"  LOVEL  y  IN  DBA  Tt/,"  ETC, 


Ms 


■  M 


hcrre 
feet 
and 


That  loved  familiar  voice  overtook  her  spirit,  already 
winging  its  flight  from  earth,  and  brought  it  back  for  a  few 
mimifes  longer.  Mbre  Esther,  a  skilful  niirse,  administered 
a  5  drops  of  cordial,  and,  seeing  her  dyin^r  conditioUi 
sei    .^nstantly  for  the  physician  and  the  chaplam. 

Amdlie  opened  her  eyes  and  turned  them  inquiringly 
round  the  group  until  they  fastened  upon  Pierre.  A  flash 
of  fondness  suddenly  suffused  her  face,  as  she  remembered 
how  and  why  he  was  there.  She  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  kissed  him  many  times,  murmuring,  "  I  have 
often  prayed  to  die  thus,  Pierre  !  close  to  you,  my  love,  close 
to  you ;  in  your  arms  and  God's,  where  you  could  receive 
my  last  breath,  and  feel  in  the  last  throb  of  my  heart  that 
it  is  wholly  yours!  "       :  \  n  't.     ■  .  ih  hi  (i  vuxm 

"  My  poor  Amdlie,"  cried  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom, 
"you  shall  not  die  !  Courage,  darling  1  It  is  but  weakness 
and  the  air  of  the  convent ;  you  shall  not  die." 

"  I  am  dying  now,  Pierre,"  said  she,  falling  back  upon 
her  pillow.  "  I  feel  I  have  but  a  short  time  to  live  1  I 
welcome  death,  since  I  cannot  be  yours.  But,  01  the  un- 
utterable pang  of  leaving  you,  my  dear  love  1 " 

Pierre  could  only  reply  by  sobs  and  kisses.  Am^ie 
was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  revolving  some  deep 
thought  in  her  mind. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  Pierre,  I  have  to  beg  of  you,"  said 
she,  faltering  as  if  doubting  his  consent  to  her  prayer.  "  Can 
you,  will  you,  accept  my  life  for  Le  Gardeur's  ?  If  I  die 
for  him^  will  you  forgive  my  poor  blood-stained  and  deluded 
brother,  and  your  own  ?  Yes,  Pierre,"  repeated  she,  as  she 
raised  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it,  "  your  brother,  as 
well  as  mine  !    Will  you  forgive  him,  Pierre  ? " 

"  Am^lie !  Amdlie !  "  replied  he,  with  a  voice  broken 
with  emotion,  "  can  you  fancy  other  than  that  I  would  for- 
give him  ?  I  forgave  Le  Gardeur  from  the  first.  In  my 
heart  I  never  accused  him  of  my  father's  death.  Alas  !  he 
knew  not  what  he  did !  He  was  but  a  sword  in  the  hands 
of  my  father's  enemies.  I  forgave  him  then,  darling,  and  I 
forgive  him  wholly  now,  for  your  sake  and  his  own  I  " 

**  My  noble  Pierre ! "  replied  she,  putting  out  her  arms 
towards  him.  "  Why  might  not  God  have  suffered  me  to 
reward  such  divine  goodness  ?  Thanks,  my  love  !  I  now 
die  content  with  all  things  but  parting  with  you."  She 
held  him  fast  by  his  hands,  one  of  which  she  kept  pressed 


666 


THE  CHIBN  IT  Oft. 


to  her  lips.  They  all  looked  at  her  expectingly,  waitin? 
for  her  to  speak  again,  for  her  eyes  were  wide  open  and 
fixed  with  a  look  o?  ineffable  love  upon  the  face  of  Pierre, 
looking  like  life  after  life  was  fled.  She  still  held  him  in 
her  rigid  clasp,  but  she  moved  not.  Upon  her  pale  lips  a 
smile  seemed  to  hover.  It  was  but  the  shadow  left  behind 
of  her  retreating  soul.  Amdlie  de  Repentigny  was  dead  1 
The  angel  of  death  had  kissed  her  lovingly,  and  unnoticed 
of  any  she  had  passed  with  him  away  ! 

The  watchful  eye  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  the  first  to 
see  that  Am^lie's  breath  had  gone  so  quietly  that  no  one 
caught  her  latest  sigh.  The  physician  and  chaplain  rushed 
hurriedly  into  the  chamber,  but  too  late  !  The  great  phy- 
sician of  souls  had  already  put  his  beloved  to  sleep — the 
blessed  sleep,  whose  dream  is  of  love  on  earth,  and  whose 
waking  is  in  heaven  !  The  great  high  priest  of  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  men  had  anointed  her  with  the  oil  of  his 
mercy,  and  sent  his  blessed  angels  to  lead  her  to  the  maa- 
Siortsof  everlasting  rest.  ^  x '\^\  i       .,.^^im\  i-ju 

The  stroke  fell  like  the  stunning  blow  of  a  hammer 
upon  the  heart  of  Pierre.  He  had,  indeed,  foreseen  her 
death,  but  tried  in  vain  to  realize  it.  He  made  no  outcry, 
but  sat  still  wrapped  in  a  terrible  silence,  as  in  the  midst 
of  a  desert.  He  held  fast  her  dead  hands,  and  gazed. upon 
her  dead  face  until  the  heart-breaking  sobs  of  Heloise,  and 
the  appeals  of  Mfere  Esther,  roused  him  from  his  stupor.  ^ 

He  rose  up,  and,  lifting  Am^lie  in  his  arms,  laid  her 
upon  a  couch  tenderly  and  reverently,  as  a  man  touches 
the  holiest  object  of  his  religion.  Amdlie  was  to  him  a 
sacrament,  and  in  his  manly  love  he  worshipped  her  more 
as  a  saint  than  as  a  woman,  a  creation  of  heavenly  more 
than  of  earthly  perfections. 

Pierre  bent  over  her  arid  closed  for  the  last  time  those 
dear  eyes  which  had  looked  upon  him  so  pure  and  so  lov- 
ingly. He  embraced  her  dead  form,  and  kissed  those  pal- 
lid lips,  which  had  once  confessed  her  unalterable  love  and 
truth  for  Pierre  Philibert. 

The  agitated  ni  is  gathered  round  them  at  the  news  of 
death  in  the  convent.  They  looked  wonderingly  and  earn- 
estly at  an  exhibition  of  such  absorbing  aSection,  and 
were  for  the  most  part  in  tears.  With  some  of  these  gen- 
tle women,  this  picture  of  true  love,  broken  in  the  midst  <A 
its  brigHfr'»«t  hones    ';?okp  svmpathies  and  rerollections. 


"  TffE  WU^  Of^  COD  GRTND  SLOWL  Y. »         6^7 

which  the  watchful  eye  of  M^re  MIgeon  promptly  checked 
as  soon  as  she  came  into  the  parlor. 

The  Lady  Superior  saw  that  all  was  over,  and  that 
Pierre's  presence  was  an  uneasiness  to  the  nuns,  who 
glanced  at  him  with  eyes  of  pity  and  womanly  sympathy. 
She  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand,  with  a  few  words  of  con- 
dolence, and  intimated  that  as  he  had  been  permitted  to 
see  the  end,  he  must  now  withdraw  from  those  forbidden 
precincts,  and  leave  his  lost  treasure  to  the  care  d  the 
nuns  who  take  charge  of  the  dead. 


m 


T,mi  .\\V:n 


f  ir-i^i 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


"the  mills  of  god  grind  slowly." 


PIERRE  was  permitted  to  see  the  remains  of  his  af&anced 
bride  interred  in  the  convent  chapel.  Her  modest 
funeral  was  impressive  from  the  number  of  sad  sympathizing 
faces  which  gathered  round  her  grave. 

The  quiet  figure  of  a  nun  was  seen  morn  and  eve,  for 
years  and  years  after,  kneeling  upon  the  stone  slab  that 
covered  her  grave,  laying  upon  it  her  daily  offering  of 
flowers,  and  if  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur  mingled  with  her 
pi  ayers,  it  was  but  a  proof  of  the  unalterable  affection  of 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere,  known  in  religion  as  Mere  St 
Croix. 

The  lamp  of  Repentigny  shed  its  beams  henceforth 
over  the  grave  of  the  last  representative  of  that  noble 
house,  where  it  still  shines  to  commemorate  their  virtues, 
and  perpetuate  the  memory  of  their  misfortunes ;  but  God 
has  long  since  compensated  them  for  all. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  inconsolable  over  the  ruin  of  her 
fondest  hopes.  She  had  regarded  Pierre  as  her  son,  and 
intended  to  make  him  and  Amdlie  joint  inheritors  with  Le 
Gardeur  of  her  immense  wealth.  She  desired  still  to  be- 
queath it  to  Pierre,  not  only  because  of  her  great  kindness 
for  him,  but  as  a  sort  of  self-imposed  amercement  upon 
her  house  for  the  death  of  his  father. 
x«j  Pierre  refused :  "  I  have  more  of  the  world's  riches 


668 


THE  CMIBND'OR. 


already  than  I  c  m  use/'  said  he,  "  and  I  value  not  what  I 
have,  since  she  is  gor  t  for  whose  sake  alone  I  prized 
them.  I  shall  go  abro  id  to  resume  my  profession  of  arms^ 
not  seeking,  yet  not  avoiding  an  honorable  death,  which 
may  reunite  me  to  Amdlie,  and  the  sooner,  the  more  wel- 
come 1 " 

"  O  God  that  rules  the  world  I "  was  an  exclamation 
often  repeated  by  the  noble  lady  in  those  sad  days,  "  what 
a  wreck  of  happiness  is  ours  1  I  cannot  resign  myself  to  it  1 
and  I  ask,  vainly,  vainly,  what  we  have  done  to  bring  upon 
our  heads  such  a  heavy  judgment  as  this  ? " 

"  The  ways  of  Providence  are  justified  by  faith,  not  by 
fallible  reason,  which  is  too  short-sighted  to  see  the  end 
of  things,"  was  the  reply  of  the  Reverend  Father  de  Berey 
who  often  visited  her  in  her  affliction.  '  We  see  but  in 
part,  we  know  but  in  part.  The  righteous  perisheth,  and 
I  see  the  wicked  in  great  power,  spreading  like  a  green 
bay  tree.'  But  mark  the  end :  '  The  end  of  the  upright 
man  is  peace,  the  end  of  the  wicked  shall  be  cut  off,' 
saith  God.  Let  us  never  forget  amid  our  repining  at 
Providence,  that  God  reigneth  over  all.  The  end  that  we 
see,  is  not  the  end  that  God  sees.  Man's  ends  are  but 
beginnings  in  the  eternal  scheme  of  human  destiny.  God's 
ends  are  not  on  earth,  but  in  that  spiritual  world,  where 
eternity  takes  the  place  of  time,  where  our  sharp — may  be 
our  unmerited — trials  here,  are  amply  recompensed  in  the 
full  plan  of  divine  beneficence  hereafter.  ^Darkness 
lasteUi  through  the  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morn- 
ing I ' "  -ni:  ■xl^'^(^A  ,cri*>;j  r^/oJ"  m  '•i^^mt?n ' 

The  habitual  gayety  of  the  Superior  of  the  Recollets 
dropped  like  a  niask  from  his  face  in  the  presence  of  a 
real  sorrow,  and  he  stood  revealed  in  his  true  character  of 
a  grave  earnest  christian,  teaching  in  all  seriousness,  the 
duty  of  resignation  amid  the  trials  of  this  world,  and  a 
lively  fakh  in  the  certainty  of  God's  ways  being  justified  ia 
the  world  to  come.  ki  m^' vij  i 

Lady  de  Tilly  sought  by  assiduous  devotion  to  the 
duties  of  her  life  and  station,  distraction  from  the  gnaw- 
ing cares  that  ever  preyed  upon  her.  She  but  partially  suc- 
ceeded. She  lived  through  the  short  peace  of  Aix  la 
Chapelle,  and  shared  in  the  terrible  sufferings  of  the 
seven  years  war  that  followed  in  its  wake.  When  the 
final  conquest  of  New  France  overwhelmed  the  Colony  to 


%y 


*  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRIND  SLOWLY." 


669 


diets 
of  a 
er  of 
the 
md  a 
ied  in 

the 
jnaw- 
ysuc- 
ix  la 

the 
n  the 
>ny  to 


f 


%^- 


all  appearances  in  utter  ruin,  she  endowed  the  Ursulines 
with  a  large  portion  of  her  remaining  wealth,  and  retired 
¥dth  her  nearest  kinsmen  to  France.  The  name  of  Tilljr 
became  extinct  among  the  noblesse  of  the  colony,  but  ft 
still  flourishes  in  a  vigorous  branch  upon  its  native  soil  of 
Normandy. 

Pierre  Philibert  passed  a  sad  winter  in  arranging  and 
settling  the  vast  affairs  of  his  father  before  leaving  New 
France.  In  the  Spring  following  the  death  of  Amdlie,  he 
passed  over  to  the  old  world,  bidding  a  long  and  last 
adieu  to  his  native  land. 

Pierre  endeavored  manfully  to  bear  up  under  the  load 
of  recollections  and  sorrows  which  crushed  his  heart,  and 
made  him  a  grave  and  melancholy  man  before  his  time. 
He  rejoined  the  army  of  his  Sovereign,  and  sought  danger 
— ^his  comrades  said  for  danger's  sake — with  a  desperate 
valor  that  was  the  boast  of  the  army ;  but  few  suspected 
that  he  sought  death,  and  tempted  fate  in  every  form. 

His  wish  was  at  last  accomplished^as  all  earnest,  ab- 
sorbing wishes  ever  are — he  fell  valorously,  dying  a 
soldier's  death  upon  the  field  of  Minden,  his  last  mo- 
ments  sweetened  by  the  thought  that  his  beloved  Amdlie 
was  waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  dark  river,  to 
welcome  him  with  the  bridal  kiss,  promised  upon  the 
banks  of  the  lake  of  Tilly.  He  met  her  joyfully  in  that 
land  where  love  is  real,  and  where  its  promises  are  never 
broken ! 

\,  The  death  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  affecting  so 
many  fortunes,  was  of  immense  consequence  to  the 
colony.  It  led  to  the  ruin  of  the  party  of  the  Honnetes 
GmSf  to  the  supremacy  of  the  Grand  Company,  and  the  final 
overthrow  of  New  France. 

The  power  and  extravagance  of  Bigot  after  that  event, 
gr<^w  without  check  or  challenge,  and  the  departure  of  the 
virtuous  La  Gallissonifere  left  the  colony  to  the  weak  and 
corrupt  administrations  of  La  Jonquiere,  and  De  Vaudreuil. 
The  latter  made  the  castle  of  St.  Louis  as  noted  for  its 
venality,  as  was  the  palace  of  the  IntendanL  Bigot  kept 
his  high  place  through  every  change.  The  Marquis  de 
Vaudreuil  gave  h:m  free  course ;  and  it  was  more  than 
suspected  shared  with  the  corrupt  Intendant  in  the  plunder 
of  the  colony.  51;    •-    ?t>^^; 

.    These  public  vices  bore  their  natural  fruit,  and  all  the 


£yo  THE  CHIBN  JJOR. 

efforts  of  the  Honnttes  Gms  to  stay  the  tide  of  corrupdoa 
were  futile.  Montcalm,  after  reaping  successive  harvests 
of  victories,  brilliant  beyond  all  precedent  in  North 
America,  died  a  sacrifice  to  the  insatiable  greed  and 
extravagance  of  Bigot  and  his  associates,  who,  while  en- 
riching themselves,  starved  the  army,  and  plundered  the 
colony  of  all  its  resources.  The  fall  of  Quebec,  and  the 
capitulation  of  Montreal  were  less  owing  to  the  power  of  ^ 
the  English  than  to  the  corrupt  misgovernment  of  Bigot 
and  Vaudreuil,  and  the  neglect  by  the  court  of  France  of 
her  ancient  and  devoted  colony. 

Le  Gardeur,  after  a  long  confinement  in  the  Bastille, 
where  he  incessantly  demanded  trial  and  punishment  for  his 
rank  offence  of  the  murder  of  the  Bourgeois,  as  he  ever 
called  it,  was  at  last  liberated  by  express  command  of 
the  king,  without  trial,  and  against  his  own  wishes.  His 
sword  was  restored  to  him,  accompanied  by  a  royal  order, 
bidding  him  upon  his  allegiance  return  to  his  regiment,  as 
an  officer  of  the  king,  free  from .  all  blame  for  the  offence 
laid  to  his  charge.  Whether  the  killing  of  the  Bourgeois 
was  privately  regarded  at  court  as  good  service,  was  never 
known.  But  Le  Gardeur,  true  to  his  loyal  instincts,  obeyed 
the  king,  rejoined  the  army,  and  once  more  took  the  field. 

Upon  the  outbreak  of  the  last  French  war  in  America, 
he  returned  to  New  France  a  changed  and  reformed  man  ; 
an  ascetic  in  his  living,  and  although  a  soldier,  a  monk  in 
the  vigor  of  his  penitential  observances.  His  professional 
skill  and  daring  were  conspicuous  among  the  number  of 
gallant  officers  upon  whom  Montcalm  chiefly  relied  to 
assist  him  in  his  long  and  desperate  struggle  against  the 
ever  increasing  forces  of  the  English.  From  the  capture 
of  Chouaguen,  and  the  defence  of  the  Fords  of  Mont- 
morency— to  the  last  brave  blow  struck  upon  the  plains  of 
St.  Foye,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  fulfilled  every  duty 
of  a  gallant  and  desperate  soldier.  He  carried  his  life  in 
his  hand,  and  valued  it  as  cheaply  as  he  did  the  lives  of 
his  enemies. 


!vf%T 


;•  i?'|.ii.--j. '^dt  ^>km  ■':-3:«/.l'&i:i"l' 


He  never  spoke  to  Ang^lique  again !  Once  he  met  her 
full  in  the  face,  upon  the  perron  of  the  Cathedral  of  St 
Marie.  She  started  as  if  touched  by  fire, — trembled, 
blushed,  hesitated,  and  extended  her  hand  to  him  in  the 
old  familiar  way — with  that  look  of  witchery  in  her  eyes, 
and  that  seductive  sr  nile  upon  her  lips,  which  once  sent  the 


"  THE  MILLS  Oh  GOD  GRIND  SLOWLtT        67 1 

hot  blood  coursing  madly  in  his  veins.  But  Le  Gardeur'i 
heart  was  petrified  now !  He  cared  for  no  woman  more— 
or  if  he  did,  his  thought  dwelt  with  silent  regret  upon  that 
pale  nun  in  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines — once  Heloise 
de  Lotbini^re,  who  he  knew  was  wasting  her  young  life  in 
solitary  prayers  for  pardon  for  his  great  offence." 

His  anger  rose  fiercely  at  the  sight  of  Ang^ique,  and 
Le  C-ardeur  forgot  for  a  moment  that  he  was  a  gentleman, 
a  man  who  had  once  loved  this  woman.  He  struck  her  a 
blow,  and  passed  on  I  It  shattered  her  last  illusion.  The 
proud  guilty  woman  still  loved  Le  Gardeur,  if  she  loved  any 
man.  But  she  felt  she  had  merited  his  scorn.  She 
staggered,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  cathedral—- 
weeping  the  bitterest  tears  her  eyes  had  ever  wept  in  her 
life.     She  never  saw  Le  Gardeur  again. 

After  the  conquest  of  New  France,  Le  Gardeur  letired 
with  the  shattered  remnant  of  the  army  of  France  back  to 
their  native  land.  His  Sovereign  loaded  him  with  honors, 
which  he  cared  not  for.  He  had  none  to  share  them  with 
now !  Lover,  sister,  friends,  all  were  lost  and  gone  !  But 
he  went  on  performing  his  military  duties  with  an  iron 
rigor  and  punctuality,  that  made  men  admire,  while  they 
feared  him.  His  life  was  more  mechanical  than  human. 
Le  Gardeur  spared  neither  himself  nor  others.  He  never 
married,  and  never  again  looked  with  kindly  eye  upon  a 
woman.  His  heart  was  proof  against  every  female  bland- 
ishment.  He  ended  his  life  in  sditary  state  and  greatness, 
as  Governor  of  Mahd  in  India,  many  years  after  he  had 
left  his  native  Canada. 

One  day,  in  the  year  of  grace,  1777,  another  council  cf 
war  was  sitting  in  the  great  chamber  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Louis,  undar  a  wonderful  change  of  circumstances !  An 
English  governor.  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  presided  over  a  mixed 
assemblage  of  English  and  Canadian  officers.  The  Royal 
AiTfis  and  colors  of  England  had  replaced  the  emblems 
and  ensigns  of  France  upon  the  walls  of  the  council 
chamber,  and  the  red  uniform  of  her  army  was  loyally 
worn  by  the  old  but  still  indomitable  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who  with  the  De  Salabenys,  the  De  Beaujeus,  Duchesnays, 
de  Gaspes,  and  others  of  noblest  name  and  lineage  in  New 
France,  had  come  forward  as  loyal  subjects  of  England's 
crown  to  defend  Canada  against  the  armies  of  th« 
English  colonies,  now  in  rebellion  against  the  king. 


6j9         ^  Tgi£  CHIEN  l/OR. 

The  nobl  isse  and  people  of  New  France,  all  that  wai 
best  and  of  most  esteem  in  the  land,  gave  their  allegiance 
loyallv  and  unreservedly  to  England,  upon  their  final 
abandonment  by  the  court  of  France.  They  knew  they 
had  been  coldly,  deliberately,  cruelly  deserted  by  their  kirie, 
and  the  colony  utterly  ruined  by  the  malversations  of  his 
Intendant. 

Montcalm  had  appealed  vainly  again  and  again  for 
help.  He  fought  his  last  campaign  with  the  letter  of  the 
Marshal  De  Belie  Isle  in  his  pocket,  refusing  the  reinforce- 
ments he  had  so  earnestly  requested,  and  coldly  bidding 
him  make  :  '*  the  best  fight  he  could  to  save  the  king's  honor 
and  his  own." 

The  Canadians  neither  forgot  nor  forgave  the  bonfires 
of  Voltaire,  nor  the  flatterers  who  congratulated  La 
Pompadour,  on  the  loss  of  those  ''  acres  of  snow  in 
Canada."  But  the  honor  and  much  of  the  strength  of 
France  were  lost  with  them.  "  When  the  house  is  on  fire, 
nobody  minds  about  the  stables  !"  was  the  heartless  sarcasm 
of  Berreyer,  Minister  of  Marine  and  Colonies,  to  De 
Bougainville,  deputed  to  make  a  last  desperate  appeal  for 
help  to  the  mother  country,  which  caused  the  indignant 
delegate  to  reply  to  Berreyer,  that  "  his  answer  was  worthy 
of  a  horse." 

Still,  the  rending  of  the  old  ties  of  nationality  had 
been  terrible,  and  the  fond  habitans  long  looked  and 
prayed  for  the  return  of  •  their  Bonnes  Gens^  from  France, 
who  never  came !  Canada  had  been  left  to  its  fate.  The 
people  of  the  colony  settled  down  by  degrees  as  loyal  and 
faithful  subjects  of  England.  ..t. 

When  the  conquest  of  New  France  by  England,  had  its 
counterstroke  in  the  revolt  of  the  English  colonies, 
the  Canadians  were  immovable  from  their  new  allegiance. 
They  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  appeals  of  Congress  and  to 
the  proclamations  of  Washington,  inciting  them  to  revolt, 
and  especially  scorned  the  seductive  offers  of  La  Fayette 
and  D'Estaing  to  join  in  the  league  with  the  Americans. 

The  Canadians  saw  with  resentment,  French  fleets  and 
armies  despatched  to  America,  to  aid  the  Bostonais,  a 
fraction  of  which  force  sent  in  the  hour  of  need,  would 
have  saved  New  France  from  conquest  I  The  assistance 
which  had  been  so  brutally  denied  to  her  own  children, 
France  now  gave  lavishly  to  their  hereditary  enemies  whe 
had  for  over  a  century  been  trying  to  conquer  Canada. 


«•  THR  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRiND  SLOWLY,* 


*7S 


ti» 


had 
and 


Through  causes  rooted  deeply  in  the  history  of  New 
Prance,  the  Canidians  had  ever  regarded  the  English 
colonists  in  America  as  their  enemies,  far  more  than  the 
English  themselves,  and,  therefore,  when  driven  to  a  choice 
between  the  two,  they  remained  true  to  England,  and  their 
wise  choice  has  been  justified  to  this  day. 
4  The  patriotic  Bishop  Briand  exhorted  the  people  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  to  stand  by  their  king  and 
country  t  the  clergy  everywhere  preached  damnation 
against  all  who  took  not  up  arms  to  oppose  the  invasion 
of  Arnold  and  Montgomery  1  some  of  them  like  the  war- 
like Curd  Bailly,  actually  took  the  field,  and  fell  in  defence 
of  the  colony  1  The  officers  and  leaders  of  the  Canadians, 
who  had  fought  in  the  old  wars  so  gallantly  for  France,  now 
donned  the  English  uniform,  and  led  their  countrymen  in 
the  defence  of  Quebec,  with  the  same  valor  and  with  better 
sucrpss  than  when  opposing  Wolfe  and  Murray.  The 
de{»»h  of  Jumonville  de  Villiers  was  gloriously  avenged  I 

'*  Read  that,  La  Come  I "  said  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  handing 
him  a  newspaper  just  received  from  England.  "  An  old 
friend  of  yours  if  I  mistake  not,  is  dead  1  I  met  him  once 
in  India.  A  stern  saturnine  man  he  was  I  but  a  brave 
»nd  able  commander — I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death,  but 
T  do  not  wonder  at  it.  He.  was  the  most  melancholy  man 
T  ever  saw." 

*..     La  Come  took  the  paper  and  gave  a  start  of  intense 
amotion,  as  he  read  an  obituary  notice  as  follows : — 

"  East  Indies.  Death  of  the  Marquis  De  Repentigny. 
The  Marquis  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  general  of  the 
army  and  governor  of  Mahd,  died  last  year  in  that  part  of 
[ndia,  which  he  had  by  his  valor  and  skill  preserved  to 
France.  This  officer  had  served  in  Canada  with  the  repu- 
tation of  an  able  and  gallant  soldier." 

La  Corne  was  deeply  agitated,  his  lips  quivered  and 
tears  gathered  in  the  thick  gray  eye  lashes  that  formed  so 
prominent  a  feature  of  his  rugged  but  kindly  face.  He 
concluded  his  reading  in  silence — and  handed  the  paper 
to  De  Beaujeu,  with  the  single  remark — "  Le  Gardeur  is 
dead  I  poor  fellow  !  He  was  more  sinned  against  than  sin- 
ning I  God  pardon  him  for  all  the  evil  he  meant  not  to  do  I 
Is  it  not  strange  that  she,  who  was  the  cursed  cause  of  hist 
ruin,  still  flourishes  like  the  Queen  of  the  kingdom  ol 
Brass  ?  It  is  hard  to  justify  the  ways  of  Providence,  when 

43 


674  ^^^  LHIEN  I/OR. 

wickedness  like  hrrs  prospers,  and  virtues  like  those  of  th« 
brave  old  Bourgeois  find  a  bloody  graVe !  My  poor 
Am^lie  too  I  poor  girl,  poor  girl  I "  La  Corne  St.  Luc  saf 
ailent  a  long  time  immersed  in  melancholy  reflections. 

The  Canadian  officers  read  the  paragraph  which  re- 
vived in  their  minds  also  sad  recollections  of  the  past. 
They  knew  that  by  her,  who  had  been  the  cursed  cause  of 
the  ruin  of  Le  Gardcur  and  of  the  death  of  the  Bourgeois, 
La  Corne  referred  to  the  still  blooming  widow  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Pean — the  leader  of  fashion  and  gaiety  in  « 
the  capital  now,  as  she  had  been  thirty  years  before,  when 
she  was  the  celebrated  Ang^lique  des  Meloises.  J* I 

Ang^lique  had  played  desperately  her  game  of  life  with 
the  juggling  fiend  of  ambition,  and  had  not  wholly  lost. 
Although  the  murder  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  pressed 
hard  upon  her  conscience,  and  still  harder  upon  her  fears, 
no  man  read  in  her  face  the  minutest  asterisk  that  pointed 
to  the  terrible  secret  buried  in  her  bosom,  and  nevf  r  'i-^- 
covered  it.  So  long  as  La  Corriveau  lived,  Ang^li que  never 
felt  safe.  But  fear  was  too  weak  a  counsellor  for  her  to 
,  pretermit  either  her  composure  or  her  pleasures.  She  re- 
doubled her  gayety,  and  her  devotions  ;  and  that  was  the 
extent  of  her  repentance!  The  dread  secret  of  Beau- 
manoir  was  never  revealed.  It  awaited,  and  awaits  still, 
the  judgment  of  the  final  day  of  accompt.  .'v«r   -»v»  * 

Bigot  in  his  heart  suspected  her  of  complicity  with  the 
bloody  deed,  but  proof  failed,  nor  could  he  ever  detect 
upon  her  countenance  or  in  her  words,  watch  as  he  would, 
one  sign  of  the  guilt,  she  kept  so  well  concealed  from  his 
eye.  He  was  never  quite  satisfied,  however,  with  her  inno- 
cence, and  although  so  deeply  smitten  by  her  beauty  and 
fascinations,  he  would  not  marry  her.  ■yw'^^'  *h*  it      r 

Angdlique  had  intrigued  and  sinned  in  vain.  She 
feared  Bigot  knew  more  than  he  really  did  in  reference  to 
the  death  of  Caroline,  and  oft  while  laughing  in  his  face, 
she  trembled  in  her  heart  when  he  plii}»  •:.'  w^kx  equivocated 
with  her  earnest  appeals  to  marry  '  ir,  iV:uried  t  j.l  at 
length  with  waiting  for  his  decisive  yes  or  no,  Ang^lique, 
mortified  by  wounded  pride  and  stung  by  the  scorn  of  Le 
Gardeur  on  his  return  to  the  colony,  suddenly  accepted 
til.*  hand  of  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  as  a  result  became 
tb<: '  "^'Ogr^ized  n  istress  of  the  Intendant — imitating  as  fat  jk 
as  siiewas  able  the  splendor  and  the  guilt  of  La  Pompar 


l; 


-  THR  MILLS  OF  COD  CRtNU  SLOWLY^ 


«r! 


of  Um 
r  poor 
lUC  sat 

8. 

ich  ny 

:  past, 
lu&e  of 
rgeois, 
of  the 
iety  in 
:,  when 

fe  with 
ly  lost, 
pressed 
r  fears, 

pointed 

le  never 

her  to 

She  re- 

ras  the 
Beau.   , 
ts  still, 

ith  the 
detect 
would, 
rom  his 
;r  inno- 
uty  and 

1.  She 
ence  to 
is  face, 
vrocated 
I  :.i  at 
[Clique, 
of  Le 
cepted 
Ibecame 
as  fat 
iPompar 


% 


dour,  auJ  making  the  palace  of  Bigot  as  corrupt,  if  iiot  as 
brilliant,  as  thai  of  Versailles. 

An^^lique  lived  thenceforth  a  life  of  splendid  sia 
She  clothci.  herself  in  purpL-  and  fine  linen,  while  tht 
noblest  ladies  of  the  land  were  reduced  by  the  wir  to  x^3gk 
and  beggary  blie  fired  sumptuously  while  men  and 
women  died  of  hunger  in  the  streets  of  (Quebec.  She 
bought  hou  -s  and  '  i  rjs  and  filled  her  coffers  with  gold 
out  of  the  public  treasury,  while  the  brave  soldiers  of 
Montcalm  starved  for  want  of  their  pay.  Slie  gave  fetes 
and  banquets  while  the  Knglish  were  thundering  at  thf 
gates  of  the  Capital.  She  foresaw  the  eventual  fall  oi 
Bigot  and  the  ruin  of  the  country,  and  esolved  that  since 
she  had  failed  in  getting  himself,  she  would  make  her«*lf 
possessor  of  all  that  he  had — and  sh*  got  it ! 
ii  The  fate  of  Bigot  was  a  warning  to  public  peculator* 
and  oppressors.  He  returned  to  tYance  soon  aft''  the 
surrender  of  the  colony,  with  Cadet,  Varin,  Penisau  and 
others  of  the  Grand  Company,  who  were  now  useless  tools 
and  were  cast  aside  by  their  court  friends.  The  Bastile 
opened  its  iron  doors  to  receive  the  godless  and  wicked 
crew,  who  had  lost  the  fairest  colony  of  France — the  rich- 
est jewel  in  her  crown.  Bigot  and  th<  others  were  tried 
by  a  special  commission,  were  found  ;uilty  of  the  most 
heinous  malversations  of  office,  and  senKnced  to  make  full 
restitution  of  the  plunder  of  the  King's  treasures — to  be 
imprisoned  until  their  fines  and  restitutions  were  paid,  and 
then  banished  from  the  kingdom  foreve^ 

History  has  so  far  utterly,  failed  to  tell  is  with  certainty 
what  was  the  end  of  Bigot.  Singular  as  it  may  seem,  a 
man  who  played  so  important  a  part  in  Canada,  found  no 
one  to  record  his  death  or  to  write  his  epitaph.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  by  favor  of  La  Pompadour  his  heavy  sentence 
was  commuted,  and  he  retained  a  sufficiency  of  his  ill-got- 
ten wealth  to  enable  him,  under  a  change  of  nam6,  to  live 
in  ease  and  opulence  at  Bordeaux,  where  he  lied. 

Ang^lique  had  no  sympathyfor  Bigot  in  his  misfortunes^ 
no  regrets  save  that  she  had  failed  to  mould  him  more 
completely  to  her  own  purposes,  flattering  herself  that 
had  she  done  so,  the  fortunes  of  the  war  and  the  fate  of 
the  colony  might  have  been  different.  What  might  have 
been,  had  she  not  ruined  herself  and  her  projects  by  the 
murder  of  Caroline,  it  were  vain  to  conjecture.     But  sh? 


676 


THE  CHIRN  I/OX. 


who  had  boldl)  dreamed  of  ruling  king  and  kingdom,  by 
the  witchery  of  her  charms  and  the  craft  of  her  subtle 
intellect,  had  to  content  herself  with  the  name  of  De  Pean 
and  the  shame  of  a  lawless  connection  with  the  Intendant 

She  would  fain  have  gone  to  France  to  try  her  fortunes 
when  the  colony  was  lost,  but  La  Pompadour  forbade  her 
presence  there  under  pain  of  her  severest  displeasure. 
Ang^iique  raved  at  the  inhibition,  but  was  too  wise 
to  tempt  the  wrath  of  the  royal  mistress  by  disobejnng 
her  mandate.  She  had  to  content  herself  with  rail- 
ing at  La  Pompadour  with  the  energy  of  three  Furies, 
but  she  never  ceased  to  the  end  of  her  life  to  boast  of  the 
terror  which  her  charms  had  exercised  over  the  great  fa- 
vorite of  the  King. 

Rolling  in  wealth  and  scarcely  faded  in  beauty,  Ang^l- 
ique  kept  herself  in  the  public  eye.  She  hated  retirement 
and  boldly  claimed  her  right  to  a  foremost  place  in  the 
society  of  Quebec.  Her  great  wealth  and  unrivalled 
power  of  intrigue  enabled  her  to  keep  that  place  down  to 
the  last  decade  of  the  last  century.  A  generation  ago, 
very  old  men  and  women  still  talked  of  the  gorgeous  car- 
riages and  splendid  liveries  of  the  great  "  Dame  De  Pean," 
whom  they  had  seen  in  their  childhood,  rolling  in  state 
along  the  broad  avenue  of  St.  Foye,  the  admiration, 
envy  and  evil  example  of  her  sex  I  Many  people  shook 
their  heads  and  whispered  queer  stories  of  her  past  life,  in 
the  days  of  the  Intendant  Bigot,  but  none  knew  the  worst 
of  her.  The  forgotten  chamber  of  Beaumanoir  kept  its 
terrible  secret  till  long  after  she  had  disappeared  from  the 
scene  of  her  extravagant  life.  The  delight  of  Ang^lique 
was  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  the  business  of  her  life  was  to 
retain  their  admiration  down  to  the  last  years  of  an  in- 
corrigible old  age.  i  r-    r,      :   , . 

The  fate  of  La  Corriveau,  her  confederate  in  her  great 
wickedn'ess,  was  peculiar  and  terrible.  Secured  at  once  by 
her  own  fears,  as  well  as  by  a  rich  yearly  allowance  paid 
her  by  Angdlique,  La  Corriveau  discreetly  bridled  her 
tongue  over  the  death  of  Caroline,  but  she  could  not  bridle 
her  own  evil  passions  in  her  own  household.         •>'.«!   i  ■ 

One  summer  day  of  the  year  following  the  conquest  of 
the  colony,  the  Goodman  Dodier  was  found  dead  in  his 
house  at  St.  Valier.  Fanchon,  who  knew  something  and 
suspected  more,  spoke  out  j  an  investigation  into  the  cause 


^  '■ 


loiii,  by 
r  subtle 
>e  Pean 
tendant 
fortunes 
ade  her 
pleasure. 
30  wise 
lobeying 
ith  rail- 
5  Furies, 
it  of  the 
jreat  fa- 

,  Angdl- 
tirement 
:e  in  the 
irivalled 
down  to 
ion  ago, 
lous  car- 
\  Pean," 
in  state 
liration, 
e  shook 
t  life,  in 
le  worst 
kept  its 
rom  the 
ng^lique 
was  to 
f  an  in- 

er  great 
once  by 
ce  paid 
lied  her 
)t  bridle 

quest  ol 
in  his 
ing  and 
le  cause 


■•^1 


THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRLND  SLOWLY,"*        67^ 

OC  death  of  the  husband  resulted  in  the  discovery  that  he 
had  beer,  murdered  by  pouring  melted  lead  into  his  ear 
while  he  slept  I  La  Corriveau  was  arrested  as  the  perpe- 
crator  of  the  atrocious  deed. 

A  special  court  of  justice  was  convened  in  the  great 
hall  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  which  in  the  ruinous 
state  of  the  city  after  the  siege  and  bombardment,  had 
been  taken  for  the  headquarters  of  General  Murray.  Mfere 
Mignon  and  Mfere  Esther,  who  both  survived  the  conquest, 
had  effected  a  prudent  arrangement  with  the  English  Gen- 
eral, and  saved  the  Convent  from  all  further  encroachment 
by  placing  it  under  his  special  protection. 

La  Corriveau  was  tried  with  all  the  fairness,  if  not  with 
all  the  forms,  of  English  law.  She  made  a  subtle  and 
embarrassing  defence,  but  was  at  last  fairly  convicted  of 
the  cruel  murder  of  her  husband.  She  was  sentenced  to 
be  hung  and  gibbetted,  in  an  iron  cage,  upon  the  hill  of 
Levis,  in  sight  of  the  whole  city  of  Quebec. 

La  Corriveau  made  frantic  efforts  during  her  imprison? 
ment  to  engage  Ang^lique  to  intercede  in  her  behalf ;  but 
Angdlique's  appeals  were  fruitless  before  the  stern  admin- 
istrators of  English  law.  Moreover,  Ang^lique,  to  be  true 
to  herself,  was  false  to  her  wicked  confederate.  She  cared 
not  to  intercede  too  much,  or  enough  to  ensure  success! 
In  her  heart  she  wished  La  Corriveau  well  out  of  the  way, 
thAt  all  memory  of  the  tragedy  of  Beaumanoir  might  be 
swept  from  the  earth,  except  what  of  it  remained  hid  in 
in  her  own  bosom.  She  juggled  with  the  appeals  of  La 
Corriveau,  keeping  her  in  hopes  of  pardon  until  the  fatal 
hour  came,  when  it  was  too  late  for  La  Corriveau  to  harm 
her  by  a  confession  of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

The  hill  of  Levis,  where  La  Corriveau  was  gibbetted, 
was  long  remembered  in  the  traditions  of  the  colony.  It 
was  regarded  with  superstitious  awe  by  the  habitans.  The 
ghost  of  Le  Corriveau  long  haunted — and,  in  the  belief  ol 
many,  still  haunts  the  scene  of  her  execution.  Startling^ 
tales,  raising  the  hair  with  terror,  were  told  of  her  round 
the  firesides  in  winter,  when  the  snow-drifts  cover  the 
fences ;  a*id  the  north  wind  howls  down  the  chimney  and 
rattles  the  casement  of  the  cottages  of  the  habitans,  how, 
all  night  long,  in  the  darkness,  she  ran  after  belated  travel- 
lers, dragging  her  cage  at  her  heels,  and  defying  all  the 
exorcisms  of  the  Church  to  lay  her  evil  spirit  1 


I 


67S  !  THR  CmRN  tItOit, 

Singularly  enough,  after  the  ancient  gibbet  had  totted 
down  anc  three  generations  of  men  had  passed  over  the 
accursed  spot  where  her  bones  and  her  cage  had  been, 
buried  together  out  of  human  sight,  a  habitant  of  Levis, 
digging  in  the  earth,  discovered  the  horrid  cage,  rusted 
and  decayed  with  its  long  interment.  It  was  taken  up  and 
exhibited  in  the  city  as  a  curiosity,  though  few  remembered 
its  story.  Finally  it  was  bought  at  a  great  price  by  a  col- 
lector of  relics — the  ghastlier  the  better — and  deposited  in 
the  Public  Museum  at  Boston,  in  New  England,  where  it 
remains  dissociated  from  the  terrible  memories  which  were 
connected  with  it.  A  young  lady  of  Quebec,  acquainted 
with  the  legends  of  her  country,  and  whose  quick  eyes 
nothing  escapes,  discovered  not  long  ago  the  horrible  thing, 
covered  with  the  dust  and  oblivion  of  time — the  last  relic 
that  remains  of  the  memory  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  house  in  St.  Valier,  the  scene  of  her  atrocious 
crime,  was  burned  to  the  ground  on  the  night  she  was  gib- 
betted,  by  the  indignant  habitans^  to  whom  it  had  ever  been 
an  object  of  supreme  terror.  With  it  were  consumed  the  relics 
of  the  laboratory  of  Antonio  Exili,  and  the  deadly  secret  of 
the  Aqua  Tofana^  a  secret  which  it  is  hoped  modern  chemis- 
try will  not  re-discover,  but  let  remain,  for  ever,  among  the 
lost  arts  of  an  ancient  and  evil  world  1 

Our  tale  is  now  done.  It  ends  in  all  sadness,  as  most 
true  tales  of  this  world  do  I  There  is  in  it  neither  poetic 
nor  human  justice.  Fain  would  we  have  had  it  otherwise, 
for  the  heart  longs  for  happiness  as  the  eye  for  light! 
But  truth  is  stronger  as  well  as  stranger  than  fiction,  and 
while  the  tablet  of  the  Chien  d'Or  overlooks  the  Rue 
Buade  j  while  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  burns  in  the  ancient 
chapel  of  the  Ursuliues ;  while  the  ruins  of  Beaumanoir 
cover  the  dust  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  ;  and  Am61ie 
sleeps  her  long  sleep  by  the  side  of  Heloise  de  Lotbinifere, 
this  wiiter  has  neither  courage  nor  power  to  deviate  from 
the  received  traditions  in  relating  the  story  of  the  Golden 
Dog. 


•ij^l    V  •  ^:^flP2i 


jv,V|i;  ii/i^  JI1W4*   \U"^  H»,t  V: 


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